A introduction to the Kid, one of his signed photos, two ringside seats for the setto with Battlin' Miller, and, last but not least, a century note, induced the bell captain to sneak me into the parlor of Don Miguel's suite when the Don was out and help me plant a dictograph there. Then we had Beatrice go up and talk his scheme over with him, repeatin' all the details and makin' the Don answer with her pretty mouth and his ugly fly trap a couple feet from where we had Mr. Dictograph hid.
So that was that!
For two or three days before the fight, Beatrice reports the Don holdin' conferences in his rooms with nearly all the sharpshooters and sure-thing gamblers around New York, and the night of the battle this educated money has made Battlin' Miller a three to one favorite, as the results of what these master minds has heard from the Don. Me and everybody connected with the Kid's camp got down hook, line, and sinker on Kid Roberts at these juicy odds. Just before we filed into the dressin' room I bet five grand for the Kid himself. The talent is set for a hog killin', but we see no reason why the hog shouldn't turn and at least bite some of 'em!
When Ptomaine Joe crawled through the ropes for his second professional scrap—the semi-windup with Tornado Tate—the house was packed to the rafters with a noisy, fight-crazy mob. Two-thirds of the customers seems to remember Ptomaine's first start and they greet him accordin'ly, with the result that the inexperienced, excitable Ptomaine is pretty well licked
