"Don't get all steamed up over nothing, Sam," I says, forcing a grin. "I just been working out for my next fight, that's all."
Sam squints at Hurricane.
"Workin' out with the heavyweight champeen?" snorts Sam. "Think I'm a fule? It's been a humdinger of a fight, I kin see by your faces. Lookit his nose!"
Then I get a real idea—I do, now and then.
"Don't make me laugh!" I snort. "That ain't the heavyweight champ no more than I'm Columbus. Look again and see for yourself!"
Hurricane Ryan's features is puffed and swelled till I bet he'd of had to be introduced to his own mother. I figure poor Sam has never seen nothing but a newspaper picture of him anyways. Like I hoped, Sam looks doubtful. He's made too many mistakes in the Drew City "Sentinel" to want to make another on purpose. Nobody likes to be laughed at, but professional comedians.
"You'll all swear that's not the heavyweight champeen of the world?" he says finally, pointing to Hurricane Ryan.
Well, that ain't a hard matter to do. I have just knocked Ryan out, so even if I ain't in a position to tell the world about it, I'm morally heavyweight champion myself, ain't I? Sure!
I nudge the others and we all raise our hands and solemnly swear. Hurricane Ryan looks at me, sees what's in my mind and with a grim smile he raises his right hand too!
A good loser at that, now wasn't he?
