that blarsted Yank meself!" etc., etc., etc. That's only a few of the loud remarks in various dialects from these babies which went down to the sea in ships. There was much other comment I'd willin'ly tell you about—if I could only get somebody to print it! Kid Roberts, used to tight corners, smiled coolly and made no answer, but Ptomaine Joe ieaped to his side. Steamed up at the insults to his god, Ptomaine leaned his huge bulk down over the footlights and shook a fist like a ham into the faces of the howlin' sailors.
"Shut up, you bunch of yellah bums!" he roars, his homely pan red with rage. "I'll hop down there in a minute and knock the lot of you stiff!"
And he meant it, no foolin'!
This was right to the likin' of these gents and they greeted Ptomaine accordin'ly. The rest of the audience is standin' up to see what it's all about, with the ladies gettin' heavily alarmed. Along the aisles on the run comes the house attendants.
"All of youse come down!" bawls the sailors up to us on the stage.
"One of us'll do!" bellows Ptomaine back and befere we can stop him he's gone over the top.
Take it from me, the fun waxed fast and furious for the next few minutes and there was quite some excitement before the special cops helped us pull Ptomaine from the middle of the strugglin' mass of arms and legs in the orchestra pit. Ptomaine come out of it with a bleedin' ear and a busted thumb, but as three insensible sailors which had choosed him
