The kid turns to Roberts, which is readin' the letter.
"Hey, Mister Roberts, can't I stay here and go out when you do?" he begs. "They'll be a million guys outside to watch you come out andand they'll all see me with you and—"
Kid Roberts smiles and tells the boy to sit down on a stool.
"Laugh that off, you big boloneys!" says the messenger to the glowerin' coppers, "And—pay me!"
The bulls look at each other and dig, each tossin' a buck to the grinnin' messenger, which sticks his tongue out at 'em.
"Can you beat that little divvle?" says one of the cops. "He bet us both a dollar Kid Roberts would let him stay!"
Whilst Ptomaine's helpin' the Kid dress, I read the note which he handed over to me, after tearin' part of it off and puttin' that part carefully in his wallet. It was from his wife and what he showed me went somethin' like this:
"This should reach you before you enter the ring. You said if you lost this bout it would be your last. I want it to be your last, of course, but I cannot desire you to lose. I hope you win and having attained your goal, the championship, you will do as I wish and retire. . . . It is so absurd, your boxing, when I have a million. . . ."
I handed it back to him.
"That shows she's still for you," I says. "What will you do?"
