I get for the six months I'm—eh—learning my trade?"
"I'll see 'at you eat," says this ten-minute egg. "But not at the Ritz! Another thing, and you might as well know this goin' in—you blow up on me in your first scuffle and you'll find yourself in 'Who's Through in America.' I'll drop you like a hot penny! Show me somethin', even 'at you can take it—and you got a million to shoot at!"
I get up after a few minutes and tell Shapiro I'll consider matters again and let him know. I want to see what two people thinks about it—Judy Willcox and Spence Brock.
Well, I ain't been back on the fountain a half hour when Spence comes in for a egg chocolate malted milk. I served him my troubles with the drink.
Much to my surprise, Spence don't go wild over the idea of me becoming a pug. Somehow, he says, it seems to him like a step down, not up, for me to pick out prize fighting as a life work.
"Not so good, Gale!" he says. "Not so good. And—Judy won't like that!"
"Look here, Spence," I says, "I've simply got to make some move which will get me from behind this soda fountain into something worth while! I happen to be big and strong, and that lets me out. What else can I do, outside of being a fighter, with the education I got? D'ye think I want to be a soda jerker all my life?"
"But why get excited over it now?" grins Spence. "You're only eighteen, so am I. We've got our whole life before us and lots of time to choose a career. I'm
