"When are you going to have your first boxing match?" she asks me.
"Next Saturday night in Brooklyn," I says. "Nate Shapiro just told me today and you're the first one I'm telling. I'm going to fight a fellow called 'Red' Johns, in a six-round preliminary to the Kayo—Jackie Frayne battle."
"Oh, Gale, you will be careful, won't you?" says Judy, suddenly grabbing my arm. "What a horrible name—'Red' Johns!"
"Wait till he hears mine," I says. "Six-Second Smith!"
Judy smiles with me.
"Well, at any rate, please try not to get hurt and—and—if you call me up as soon as the bout is over and tell me how you came out, I'll wait up Saturday night for the call!"
"As a special favor to you, Judy," I says, "I will certainly try not to get hurt, and that ain't changing my original plans much, at that! And I'll sure phone you Saturday night after the massacre; win, lose, or draw—if I'm able. But if you really like me, Judy, why do you let Rags Dempster"
No use! Judy derails me again.
"What did you do with that list of books I sent you to New York, and told you to read?" she butts in, pickin' up a book from the table. "Lost it, I'll bet."
"Well, you'd lose!" I says, and I pull her list out of my coat pocket. "Judy, if a five-year-old kid would begin piling on top of each other the books I've read
