dumfoundin'. Beth's old man Charley looked for a minute like he was goin' to strike his daughter—Frankie Nolan seemed petrified with astonishment. A flock of cops rush down the aisle and whilst some of 'em hustles the now thoroughly scared Beth outside, the others keep back the crowd from climbin' into the ring. In the champion's corner they're workin' over him frantically. I'm in the ring with twenty other guys, hoarsely claimin' a foul. Kid Roberts is leanin' against the ropes bewilderedly, with Ptomaine Joe mechanically spongin' him off. The timekeeper is tryin' to explain matters, agreein' with me that the round was cut short twelve seconds and Young should of been counted out. Toledo Eddie Hicks insists that the fight go on, as the referee only counted up to eight on the champion. The newspaper guys mix in it—some with us and some with Young. The referee asks Kid Roberts if he wants to continue and the Kid says he does, tellin' me to shut up. The crowd, only a few of 'em knowin' what actually happened, hollers for action of some kind. Everybody's talkin' at once and we're gettin' nowheres, till the cool-headed promoter of the bout quickly takes charge. He sends the timekeeper back to his post, has the coppers clear the ring and orders the bell for round three.
It lasted just eighteen seconds and those of the patrons which was scurryin' to their seats with their backs to the ring didn't even see it! At the gong, Kid Roberts rushed from his corner like a express train and caught the unsteady Young with a sledgehammer left to the wind. Young bent almost double
