Well, on account of the prominence of Kid Roberts and Dolores, the newspapers played up that scrimmage and what caused it like it was a airplane wreck in the subway. It was splashed all over the front pages with their photos and this simply poisoned Dolores, which was satisfied how she'd get trimmed at the polls on the account of the incessant couplin' of her name with the heavyweight champion's. As if that ain't enough, Kid Roberts accepts a invitation to speak over the radio about his comin' brawl with Guardsman Blue. We ain't no more than stepped into the broadcastin' room, when we bump right into Dolores, which was there to spill a campaign talk!
"Eh—how do you do!" stammers Kid Roberts.
All he got was a cold little bow.
That was apparently embarrassin' enough for Dolores, but the Kid made it more so by forgettin' alt about his speech on the fight and launchin' into a long and enthusiastic appeal for votes for his wife! That made more newspaper stories the followin' day and further infuriated the already maddened Dolores. Broilin' canine, but she was sore!
The Kid's right hand, injured in that untoward gang fight, was keepin' me from oversleepin' durin' the next few nights. It was terrible slow in respondin' to scientific treatment and as tender as a schoolgirl's heart—grammar school. I went to all the extremes to keep this fact a dark secret from the public and the newspaper guys, but somehow or other it got out and the odds shifted to six to five, with Guardsman Blue the favorite. At this tasty price, Kid Roberts, Ptomaine,
