one of wedlock's most inveterate fans and I don't hesitate to predict a great success for it!
However, there's no gettin' away from the fact that the muffled "I do!" drags difficulties into a man's life which he never had before. The course of true love is no Lincoln Highway and if you think it is you're crazy! You can't expect little wifie to "Yes" you forever and a day—I wouldn't give two counterfeit marks for one which did. But there comes a time in every bride's life when she should stand by her hubby, no matter whether the dizzy old ball and chain is right or not! She should put her own feelin's in her beaded bag for the moment and throw in with the boy for better or worse, as per her contract. Most of 'em do—wives is a great race of people—but some of 'em don't and it's one of these I'm goin' to tell you about, as it's too late to go anywheres now.
A few months after we come back to Gotham from that exhibition-bout tour of the country, I signed Kid Roberts to defend his crown against Guardsman Blue, the European title-holder. This English heavy was somethin' entirely different from the average champ which comes over here from the old country to display his wares. The jolly old Guardsman had one trick alone which made him a first-class curiosity amongst the foreign title-holders—he had conquered the dread habit of kissin' the canvas, with which the bulk of them babies is afflicted. In his first start over here, Monsieur Blue dumfounded the skeptical sport writers by stoppin' Bob Young, the ex-champion, in six rounds. Two months later he rocked Battlin' Miller to sleep in
