which passed me and Kid Roberts up and after a good gaze at Ptomaine's huge bulk, throwed that ape a long, lingerin' smile. She got immediate action—give Ptomaine a inch and you're crazy!
"Good mornin', Good-lookin'!" says Ptomaine, returnin' her smile with a grin which would of terrorized a kindergarten. "Is the quack in?"
"The doctor's busy just now," says Miss Nurse, still smilin'. Me and Kid Roberts could of been in Afghanistan, for all the attention we drawed. "Have you an appointment?" she adds.
"No," says Ptomaine, "I got a cold in the head, but the champ here wants some hem-stitchin' done on his glim. What time do you knock off for the day?"
That's speed, hey?
"Why—why I leave at five o'clock," says this large heart-breaker, blushin' coyly. It was one o'clock then.
"Good!" says Ptomaine, floppin' in a chair, "I'll wait!"
Kid Roberts breaks out a healthy laugh and the nurse looks at him curiously.
"Are you really the heavyweight champion?" she asks him.
Nobody else can talk when Ptomaine's present!
"You tell 'em!" butts in this boy scout, before the Kid can answer. "There stands the champeen of champeens—the greatest puncher since Cain! And what d'ye think keeps him in the pink of condition? What gives him the stren'th to knock 'em all for a loop?"
