Then he turns to Désirée. "Where did you engage him?" he asks her.
"At ze Gran' Central," she says, with a bewitchin' smile.
Kid Roberts hands the chauffeur a dollar and tells him to take the air. That's somethin' this baby is only too glad to do, and it looks like there'll be no hats broke or nothin' like that, when, in a misguided attempt to be friendly, the unfortunate taxi pilot stares at the Kid and remarks: "Say—d'ye know you're a dead ringer for Kid Roberts?"
Me and Ptomaine Joe laughs, but the Kid keeps a straight face.
"Kid Roberts?" he says. "Who is Kid Roberts?"
"The big yellah tramp which run out of a fight with the champeen!" sneers the chauffeur.
Silence!
The Kid's face burns a angry red and I step forward with violence in mind, when Ptomaine Joe with a howl of rage fixes everything up. The man mountain grabs the amazed taxi driver by the shoulders, lifts him up, shakes him like puss does little mousie and then coolly drops him into the lake! There was only a couple of feet of water at the point where he was standin', but, then, who wants to be throwed into even a couple of inches of it? Kid Roberts, me, and Désirée's father is petrified, but Désirée claps her hands and shrieks with delight. Then we all beat it, as some park strollers hove in sight.
Well, Kid Roberts sent me and Ptomaine Joe back to our hotel, whilst he took the charmin' visitors to their
