Aside from the fatal error of forgettin' he's wed when steppin' out in mixed company, one of the biggest mistakes a married man can make is to think the game is all over when him and his blushin' br-and-new spouse trips gayly away from the altar. When the excitement of the honeymoon has died down you got to begin in earnest to make her, to pay serious attention to her various unreasonable wishes and court her with twice the enthusiasm you did before grabbin' her off, or Mr. Love leaves you flat on your shoulder blades!
Followin' the Kid's defeat of Battlin' Miller and Don Miguel Espinose, Dolores shoved off on a speechmakin' tour of the gals' political clubs. I can't see no good reason why the Kid's family troubles should interfere with business, so I sign articles to fight him against Bob Young, which was poisonin' the heavies all over the land, fifteen rounds or less to a decision at Syracuse, N. Y. But Kid Roberts, worryin' over Dolores, couldn't seem to get no thoughts of boxin' to enter his broodin' mind. He went around like a guy in a trance, with a far-away and long-ago look in his eyes and a muttered answer to every question. He trained with no more ambition than you'll find in a tribe of snails. The old pep was gone and amazed sparrin' partners punched him around to their hearts' content. I rode him night and day, but I might as well of bawled out a dead man. Less than three weeks before the quarrel he was as soft and flabby as a piece of liver and just about as dangerous to a sweet puncher like this Young, which I'd seen go and knew to be lots of scrapper. I can't do nothin' with the Kid and I'm set to cancel the fight to save him from enterin' the ring a set-up, when Lady Luck puts on the ice for the rest of the world and commences to flirt with me. As usual, with the ladies, I got the worst of it!
One day, as warm as the vestibule to Hades, me and Kid Roberts is walkin' down Broadway with Ptomaine Joe. We're broilin' in our own fat, what I mean, as we pound perspirin'ly along them sizzlin' pavements, sinkin' to our ankles in the asphalt at street crossin's, which is as hot as only Gotham asphalt can get in July. All of a sudden a big foreign automobile draws up to the curb and a hearty voice sings out:
"As I live and breathe, Kane Halliday!"
We stop short, and Kid Roberts swings around swiftly, starin' at a classy, swell-dressed young bozo which is at the wheel of this horseless carriage smilin' at him. At first the Kid looks puzzled, but a answerin' grin soon spreads across his handsome face. He steps over to the curb, and the two of 'em shakes each other's hands off, whilst me and Ptomaine imitates a background. We ain't got long to wait, though, because the Kid calls us over.
"Devereaux," he says to the stranger, "shake hands with two of the best. Joe Murphy, my manager and guardian; Ptomaine Joe, my trainer. Boys, this is Devereaux Winston-Logan, a former classmate and a disgustingly wealthy friend of mine!"
Logan smiles and gives us each a grip. As usual, Ptomaine has got to speak out of turn.
"Howdy, Mister Logan," says this master mind, with a goofy grin on his homely pan, "how is all your little berries comin' along!"
Kid Roberts and Logan frowns for a instant. Then Logan slaps his hands together and chuckles. "Not bad!" he says to the Kid. "Logan berries, eh? Your man is quite a comedian, isn't he?"
"A second Chaplin," I butt in, sneerin' at Ptomaine. "You ought to see the witty falls this dizzy Boob can do once he puts the gloves on and gets in a ring! Don't mind him, Mister Logan, he don't know what it's all about."
"'At's what you think!" says Ptomaine. "I know what I'm doin' when I take them dives, and if you figure I don't you're crazy! If I stayed up, I'd get clouted, wouldn't I? Believe me, I'm usin' my head all the time—I'm a student, what I mean. I'd just as soon get knocked cold in Round One as I would in Round Twenty; it's less wearin' on a guy's face! C'mon, let's go places. I want to step down to some beach and do a piece of bathin'. Believe me, I swim a nasty ocean!"
"That's the proper place to be on a day like this," agrees Logan and turns to Kid Roberts. "What on earth are you doing in New York in this beastly heat?" he asks him. "You look frightfully peaked, Kane. What you need is a change of scene, and I'm the little white-haired boy who can furnish it. I had to run down here on business, and my nice, cool, comfortable yacht is out in the breezy Hudson. Hop aboard with me and laugh at Mr. Humidity!"
"That's a good thought!" pipes up Ptomaine. "Let's check out of this slab and go with your boy friend, Kid."
"Get back in line, Stupid!" I says. "Did anybody ask you to board any nice, cool, comfortable yachts?"
"But I meant to ask," smiles Logan, which seems to get quite a kick out of Ptomaine. "I have a little place on an island about twenty miles off the coast of Massachusetts, and, Kane, at this time of the year, it's a veritable paradise! You'll find a lot of people there you know, or who know you, and every comfort known to civilized man. The fishing and bathing are excellent, we have an eighteen-hole golf links, first-class tennis and handball courts and a beautiful dancing casino, where several times a week professional entertainers procured from a Boston vaudeville agency help kill any hours that have a tendency to drag. What say?"
"I'll say it's the weasel's waistcoat!" hollers Ptomaine, without nobody askin' him. "Try and keep me away!"
Logan is full of enthusiasm, and Kid Roberts looks up with a longin' gleam in his tired eyes.
"It certainty sounds attractive, old man," he says.
"But, you see, I'm in training for a bout and—"
"The very reason you should come up with me!" interrupts Logan. "That settles it! Why, man, there isn't another place in the world where you could condition yourself under such ideal surroundings. Bring your training apparatus and your merry men along and I'll put them all up. The fresh, pure air with the tang of salt in it, bathing in the bluest ocean you ever saw, and occasional social relaxation among your own class will have you in shape in no time to put up the battle of your life!"
He rattles on excitedly, findin' the Kid a good listener and Ptomaine a hungry one. The more Logan talked the more I warmed up to his proposition. In the worried frame of mind Kid Roberts was in then I figured it would work wonders with him if I could get him out of hot, sultry New York, away from rubbin' elbows in the smelly gyms with the various tenth-rate hams in trainin' there and take him where he could mix for a while with his own people. Besides that, from the way Logan described this island, it sounded like a perfect place to ready the Kid for Bob Young. I chimed in with Logan and added some arguments of my own till Kid Roberts, already crazy to go, though he tried not to show it, give in and we sailed away for the mysterious island at daybreak the next a. m.
Well, after a rough trip on the boundin' main which was spent by me and Ptomaine Joe in a noble but useless attempt to get unseasick, we tied up at Logan's island and Kid Roberts lost no time fittin' in smoothly to the life of the place. The island was all Logan claimed it to be, and the Kid hadn't been there a week when he was the same as a new man. The healthy color came back to his pale cheeks, his long missin' appetite joined him again and the deep dark hollows under his eyes disappeared like magic. But best of all was the way he snapped into his trainin'. I pitched our camp as near the beach as I could, with the ring practically right on it, where we'd get the best of the zippy breezes from the rollin' ocean. There Kid Roberts skipped rope, punched air and sand bags, pulled the weights, throwed the medicine ball, did his army settin'-up exercises, shadow boxed, wrestled and slammed his sparrin' partners around with all his old-time pep. In fact, the boy got to be such a glutton for work that I had to time him carefully and ease him up after a few days for fear he'd overdo matters and leave his fight in the gym.
The gang on the island treated Kid Roberts royally, they did for a fact. All of 'em had $9.85 for every wave which sloshed up on the sand there, and most of 'em knew the Kid's father and what his family had meant before the crash. The tired business men and Wall Street rajahs amongst the old boys couldn't do enough to make his stay there somethin' to remember with delight, whilst the male and female flappers looked on him like he was some kind of a god, no foolin'! The Kid managed to fit in a few tennis and golf games with his gym workouts, and whenever he hit the casino he was mobbed by the gals which figured him the greatest dancer since St. Vitus.
Well, they packed our trainin' quarters every day watchin' the Kid do his stuff, and, seein' a royal chance to pick up expenses, I wanted to put the bee on these babies for four bits a head, but Kid Roberts wouldn't let me charge 'em a dime. A sinful waste of a legitimate chance to grab off a couple of grand!
The presence of the famous Kid Roberts sold these guys the idea they was athaletes, and a flock of 'em had a hobby of turnin' out in their bathin' suits at six a m to join the Kid in his road work, a ten-mile gallop around the island—that is, Kid Roberts clicked off ten miles, but a half mile of the pace the Kid set was about all these other birds could stomach. We left these puffin', pantin', everfed, and underexercised millionaires stretched on the beach all along the route, gaspin' like freshly hooked fish. At their own request, I laid out a simple daily loosenin' up routine for 'em, makin' it light so's not to kill 'em, and they went through it each mornin' like it was against the law not to do it. Say, when we left that island I had everybody's card and if I ever promote a gym of my own I'll be sittin' pretty.
Nearly all the young fellows was crazy to box with Kid Roberts, if only to be able to brag around their clubs that they once had the gloves on with him. Always anxious to please, the Kid sparred with a few of 'em, handlin' 'em like he'd handle eggs and tryin' to teach 'em the kindergarten lessons of the game without changin' their profiles.
Well, it was this clownin' with the gloves which first started the trouble. Amongst Logan's friends which had a yen to box with Kid Roberts was a jobbie entitled Richmond Daniels, a husky six-footer which had knocked everybody dead as a amateur leather pusher and looked capable of givin' the best of the professionals a tough ten minutes. It was easy to see he was highly regarded as a puncher by all on the island, includin' himself, and till Kid Roberts stepped into the picture the rest of 'em had thought Daniels was the terrapin's telephone.
Bein' one of these four-flushin' loud-mouthed, upstage babies which hates themselves, Daniels liked this state of affairs the same way he liked arsenic. With a sneer on his pan as he stood around with the others watchin' Kid Roberts work out, he'd point out imaginary faults in the Kid's defence and criticize his condition till I got red-headed listenin' to him and only testrained myself from bawlin' him out by usin' control I copied from Job. A couple of times I overheard this boloney break down and confess that he'd of been heavyweight champ himself should he ever of had to fight for a livin'. The flock of yes-men which always surrounds these rich sapolios like flies surrounds a pie counter would agree with him, beggin' him to put on' the gloves with Kid Roberts just to show him up.
Daniels was a trouble maker, and I don't crave trouble makers around a trainin' camp. I didn't want Kid Roberts to box him if there was any way to prevent it because I was afraid this Daniels might know just enough to force the Kid to stop him, and it was a cinch that a knockout of one of Logan's pals would make us as popular as smallpox. I give the Kid my views on the subject and suggested barrin' the public from the camp hereafter on the grounds that we was entitled to some secrecy whilst readyin' for a scrapper as good as Bob Young. In that way we wouldn't have to box Daniels, which I was satisfied was goin' to try and put over a fast one at his earliest convenience. Kid Roberts laughed me off. It's all fun, he says, and, besides, Daniels is a gentleman and gentlemen don't do that kind of stuff.
Applesauce!
Just two days after I warned Kid Roberts, Mr. Daniels made his bid. There was a unusually big mob packed around our ring on the beach with plenty of swell-lookin' Cuteys amongst 'em and very eye-fillin' they was as they stood there in their exceedin'ly scant bathin' suits just as they come from the ocean. Kid Roberts gives 'em a generous performance, windirt up a busy hour by light sparrin' with two or three young huskies which wanted to strut their stuff before their admirin' girl friends. He let 'em make a showin', takin' all kinds of chances with them big burlies in doin' it, and when the last guy left the ring mid the loud applause of his friends the Kid was a very tired boy and more than willin' to call it a day.
I see this Daniels push to the front of the crowd and take a long look at Kid Roberts, sprawled back on his stool with his head and shoulders restin' on the top ropes, his perspirin' chest risin' and fallin' like an exhausted runner's. Steppin' up to the ropes, Daniels tapped the Kid's arm to get his attention, just as I shoved my way over.
"Care to box a round or so with me—eh—Roberts?" says Daniels, like he's speakin' to his valet.
Kid Roberts gazes around at him and hesitates, whilst the crowd gets much interested and moves up closer so's not to miss nothin'. In each face there's a "This is goin' to be good!" expression. So I stepped to the fore, motionin' the glarin' Ptomaine to keep quiet.
"To-morrow!" I says to Daniels, before the Kid can answer. "To-morrow, sonny, we'll be tickled to fill your order, but the store's closed up for to-day. Be sure to be on time, because you're one fellow I want to see waited on!"
"Now, Joe—" begins Kid Roberts, frownin' at me.
But Daniels laughs a nasty laugh, lookin' meanin'ly at the mob and then back at the Kid, which air't answered him yet.
"Why the big silence?" he sneers. "I should think you'd welcome a chawnce to improve your speed by boxing one who knows at least the rudiments of the art, instead of this daily hippodrome with clumsy and unskilled sparring partners who are mere human punching bags!"
"Cut yourself a piece of cake!" yells Ptomaine, takin' this as a personal insult. "What d'ye mean I'm clumsy? You better not choose me, brother, or the best you'll get is a lot of grief. C'mon in here—I'll give you all the boxin' you can handle, you big mock orange!"
Some of the gals commences to move away a bit nervously, and there's quite a murmur from the crowd. The Kid's friend Logan looks worried and uncomfortable, but likewise sore at Daniels.
"Oh, I say, Daniels," he bursts out, "I think this is a bit unnecessary!"
"Think what you choose!" says this bozo, with a sarcastical smile. Then he glares from the Kid to Ptomaine. "Since the gentleman very plainly does not care to risk boxing me, I shall be pleased to administer a thorough thrashing to his insolent servant!"
"Jake with me!" says Ptomaine, gleefully. "Come right in, Dizzy, and I'll poke you loose from 'at bathin' suit!"
Daniels promptly puts his hands on the ropes and vaults over, all business. This looks bad, and the innocent bystanders is on the verge of perishin' from surprise and excitement. Whilst the other handlers is lacin' gloves on Ptomaine and Daniels, the amazed Kid Roberts and me is doin' some fast thinkin', One thing is certain, and that is that we can't let them two babies step by no means! One or the other is as positive to go out cold as rain is positive to be wet. The Kid makes up his mind quickly and gets off the stool.
"Take those gloves off, Ptomaine!" he says sharply, and then turns to Daniels. "All right," he smiles pleasantly, speakin' to him for the first time, "I'll box you!"
The bloodthirsty Ptomaine looked so disappointed I thought he was goin' to bust out cryin', and I glanced quickly at Daniels to see how that bird was takin' this sudden change of program. To my great surprise, he looked highly pleased, but I didn't, as I sized him up standin' there tappin' his gloves together after one swift confident wink at the crowd. In the matter of height, weight, and reach there was little to choose between him and Kid Roberts. The Kid had a big edge in experience, of course, but he was tired and winded from his long workout whilst Daniels was fresh. He looked like he could take it, and he looked like he could hit!
"Be careful of your hands," I whispered to Kid Roberts. "Remember, that Young fight is less than ten days off now, and we don't want no accidents. Leave his jaw alone and go after him down below. You'll have to take this fellow sooner or later, so you might as well knock him off right now!"
"I'll do nothing of the sort," says the Kid. "I don't want to hurt him or make him ridiculous before his friends. I'll stall him off for a couple of rounds and then you stop it."
I stopped it just two minutes later!
The second I rang the bell, a duty I took on divah Daniels shot across the ring and hit the Kid on the chin with a stiff straight left before Roberts could get his hands up. The crowd roared, and the Kid slowly backed away, Daniels followin' and sneerin'ly invitin' him to open up and fight. Kid Roberts kept his temper and ducked a couple of wild rights, counterin' with a light left jab. Daniels tore in with both hands workin' fast and cleverly. He put a right and left to the head that had lots of stuff behind 'em and they clinched. Kid Roberts had no trouble smotherin' this bird's attempts at infightin', a trick at which he could of ruined Daniels, as Roberts was a past master at that game!
Infuriated at his lack of success, Daniels brought the heel of his glove across the Kid's face as they broke from the clinch and some of the crowd hissed. Kid Roberts returned this foul with a short right hook under the heart that brung a gasp from Daniels, and he missed a right swing by a foot, leavin' himself wide open, but the Kid didn't want to stop him and backed away, still cool and smilin'.
Daniels steadied and drove another right to the jaw, which Kid Roberts blocked, clinchin' again to keep Daniels out of mischief. The millionaire scrapper tried to rough matters in the clinch and went right up in flames when he found the Kid could handle him like a baby. Daniels suddenly ducked his head and then snapped it up in a vicious butt that caught Kid Roberts flush on the right eyebrow and opened it to the bone! The gore spurted out and blinded the Kid, coverin' both of 'em with a crimson shawl. Over the howls of the crowd come some shrieks from the fair sex, as I clanged the bell a half dozen frantic times.
At the first sound of the gong, the Kid dropped his hands, but the sight of blood seemed to drive Daniels crazy. He swung his right to the Kid's unprotected head and Roberts crashed into the ropes. Daniels was measurin' the badly dazed Roberts for another haymaker, when me and the cussin' Ptomaine leaped into the ring and grabbed him.
"Get out of here, you big tramp!" I bawled. "You come near this camp again and I'll cook you!"
"By Gad, you butted him, Daniels!" comes the angry voice of Logan. I saw you! I thought you were more of a sportsman than—"
"But your grandmother!" laughs Daniels nastily, lookin' to the pop-eyed crowd for applause. "I hit him with a right-hand punch, as he well knows. But that's the traditional excuse of the prize fighter hurt in training—he was butted by an awkward sparring partner. Bah!"
"It's all right, old fellow," puts in Kid Roberts, whilst me and Ptomaine is cleanin' and bandagin' the cut. "I know it was an accident."
"Very well, if you choose to call it that," says Daniels coolly. "However, any time you'd like to continue our little bout, you'll find me ready!"
With that he climbs through the ropes and vanishes in the crowd, which melts away like fried ice. Kid Roberts looks after him thoughtfully.
"Joe," he says to me, "I think you were right about that chap. He's a bad egg!"
It took four stitches to close the Kid's eyebrow, and that removed boxin' from his trainin' program for the next week. He wanted to wear a head guard and keep on with his regular routine, but I was takin' no chances till the cut was full healed. I could of been sent to the gallows for what I was thinkin' about this Richmond Daniels and I would of went there with a smile could I of carried my thoughts about him into effect! If there's anything I loathe, next to fried parsnips, it's these big mugs which insists on workin' out with a first-class fighter when the latter's in trainin'. There's nothin' good connected with 'em! If the fighter lets go and smacks 'em down, why, the fighter's nothin' but a big bully which took advantage of a amateur. On the other hand, if they make any kind of showin' with the fighter, the fighter's a big overrated false alarm!
Anyways, this temporary let-up in the daily grind give us some time on our hands, so when Logan asks us over to the dancin' casino we're easily led. They got a tabloid revue on tap there which they have brung down from the land of Boston for the week to help these rich millionaires shoo away Mr. Dull Care. This frolic was one of them girl-and-music things and the feature is a give-me—your-kind-applause patriotic pageant in which Rita King, the only one of the troupe I'll ever remember, took off Columbia.
Miss Rita King was one of these blond disturbances, which would wreck the peace of a old men's home. She could do more with her eyes than Columbus could of done with airplanes at his disposal, and when she smiled it was just a case of hold everything, get me? She did the plurality of the dancin' and singin' in the show, and whilst her voice would never cause no panic in the Metropolitan Opera House, her dancin' would of delighted Nero. Her little feet just seemed to giggle, what I mean!
Well, after catchin' the show the first night, we formed the pleasant habit of droppin' in at the casino pretty regularly with Logan. It was harmless fun and kept the Kid's mind off broodin' too much about his family troubles and his comin' battle with Bob Young. Like usual, Ptomaine Joe went double cuckoo over Rita after his first dazed look, and the antics of that big sapolio in tryin' to make her would of forced a guffaw out of amummy. The girl not being a lunatic, Ptomaine failed to click, and no more did our old pal Richmond Daniels, which did everything but kidnap her off that casino stage!
How the so ever, there was one baby on that island which seemed to make Rita thoughtful from the instant her marvelous eyes rolled in his direction, and that was Kid Roberts. She gets Logan to bring her over to our table and introduce her after the show one night, and after that it was a case of try and keep her away! I guess Rita had never met up with no box fighters before which looked like a collar ad, spoke with a Yale accent, and wore a tux after dark when not in the ring.
The behavior of the other two rivals for the charmin' Rita's attentions, when they seen her openly settin' sail for Kid Roberts, was decidedly different. Ptomaine took it out in mopin' and mutterin', but Daniels came right to a boil! He watched the Kid and Rita playin' around with the same identical expression on his pan that a lion wears whilst stalkin' a sheep, and a half dozen times when Rita would pass his table on the ways to ours after the revue, he'd stop her, and out of the corner of my eye I'd see them arguin' heavy. Practically the entire island, includin' the revue bunch, went bathin' together in the mornin's, and somehow Rita and the Kid always seemed to be paired off. It was the same when Logan or somebody else would throw a party, or in these tennis settos, or, in fact, anything at all. And all the time this Daniels watches—hard-faced and scowlin' and with a grim, dangerous, waitin' air about him which got on my nerves!
Well, I seen no percentage in the thing for Kid Roberts. I figured the more he's in Rita's company the harder it's goin' to be to just call it a summer flirtation and laugh this eye-soother off when the troupe leaves the island. I know darn well that the Kid's still in love with his wife, even if she has put on the ice for him and I don't want him to do nothin' he'll ever afterward regret. So as there never was or never will be no tact connected with me, I went right to the point—Rita!
"Miss King," I says to her one day when I get her alone on the beach, "I'm goin' to tell you somethin' which will no doubt win me a slap right in the face!" I don't let her swift look of alarmed surprise even slow me up, but stumble right on. "Kid Roberts is a married man and very much in love with his bride. He may think he ain't when he gazes on you, but nevers the less he is, get me? I know him better than you do—better than he knows himself. Now, listen, this is cold turkey! I think you're level, and I like you. But—this here flirtation which you're stagin' with my battler is causing him to neglect his trainin' for a tough fight, a fight he'll lose if he ain't right when he steps in that ring! It's causin' bad feelin' between Kid Roberts and this Daniels—in fact, them babies is at the point right now where a mere out-of-the-way glance from either of 'em would start the fireworks. If them guys battle over you, it's goin' to ruin your reputation and likewise the Kid's, on account of the odd angle of him bein' married. Now if—"
But, to my amazement, she has suddenly bust out cryin'!
A half hour later Rita has told me a strange story, and we have shook hands on a equally strange agreement.
It seems Rita knew Richmond Daniels long before she ever came down to the island with the show and this millionaire mug had been tryin' to sheik her for months. Rita claims she hates Daniels, but is afraid of him, and then she tells me why. Accordin' to her, she'd went to dinner in New York with him a short time before, and for dessert he slipped a nifty diamond ring on her finger. Naturally, there was a proposal went with this little gift, but it ain't a proposal of matrimony, so Rita indignantly refuses to take the gem. How the so ever, she can't get it off her finger in the restaurant and she has to wear it home. That night whilst usin' soapsuds to remove the ring, the darn thing slips off and disappears down the drain of the wash-bowl. There you are—that was Rita's story, and from the straightforward, level-eyed way she told it, somehow I believed her. As a matter of fact, I lost a ring that way once myself.
"But the baffled Daniels tells Rita her statements with regards to the missin' ring is applesauce. The cheap squawker barked and meowed something scandalous, threatenin' this poor little pulse-quickener with the Bastile if she don't come across with his gem, five hundred bucks, or—herself! That was the top-off on this guy, eh? Rita ain't got the ring or the five hundred, and that's all of his proposition she has even considered. Meanwhile Daniels has told her if he don't get service he'll have her chased off the island and collared the minute she gets back to Boston.
Well, after givin' matters plenty of due consideration, I made Rita a proposition myself. I says, if she'll lay off Kid Roberts, which she has candidly admitted havin' a yen for, I'll fix everything up with Daniels so's that he won't bother her no more. With a tearful sigh, Rita promises, thereby sealin' my doom!
The next night whilst the Kid's dressin' to have dinner with Logan, I wrote out a check for half a grand and slipped away from the trainin' camp on a quiet hunt for Mr. Richmond Daniels. Halfways to the casino I almost fell over him and Rita standin' in a little clearin' under a tree. There's a red-hot argument under way, but it ain't half as red-hot as I am when I see that Daniels has the girl by the arm whilst she seems to be tryin' to get away. They're so interested in each other that they don't peg me till I walk right up to them and shove the check in Daniels's face.
"Take your hands off that girl, you big stiff!" I snarl. "Here's your money—you're paid off, now beat it! What a fine oil can you turned out to be! A woman scarer, hey? Well, if I ever catch you botherin' this little girl again, I'll tell everybody on the island just what you're tryin' to do, and if that don't stop you, why, I'll stop you myself!"
Both of 'em stares in amazement, and then Daniels looks me over with a sneer, whilst Rita backs away kind of frightened.
"Well, well, well!" says Daniels, after a strained second, "Another admirer, eh?" He takes my check, tears it up and throws it in my face. "Go away, you little rat!" he says, curlin' his lip. "I—"
Then I let him have it—a right swing, flush on the chin!
Daniels staggered back against the tree, and Rita give a faint scream, I had no chance with Daniels, and I knew I had no chance with him when I socked him. He'd already stood off Kid Roberts, and he was certainly too big and too good for me to cope with. I gambled everything on that first wallop stoppin' him. It didn't, and from then on I was just a catcher. He could of knocked me off at any time with a punch, but he didn't want to do that. Oh no—with a cold, sneerin' grin on his pan he just stood off and cut me to ribbons with slashin' hooks and jabs, carefully avoidin' landin' in a vital spot. In less than three minutes I'm bleedin' like a stuck pig, one eye is closed tight, and I'm flounderin' around like a drunk. I was drunk—with punishment! I don't know when Daniels got tired of the sport and put over the finisher, but I know I come to life flat on the ground and alone.
Well, there was murder in my heart when I stumbled into the camp a half hour later. After makin' sure Kid Roberts was nowheres in sight, my first act is to rout out Ptomaine Joe, the man mountain. Ptomaine was engaged in his favorite exercise, poundin' his ear, but one glance at me and he's plenty wide awake. I shut off his excited questions by swiftly tellin' him what had happened, gettin' some satisfaction from the roar of rage he let loose.
I reminded Ptomaine I had started him twice in a praiseworthy effort to make him a box fighter, and though he had been a fearful bust each time, he'd been well paid for his efforts. Now I wanted him to fight for nothin'. Fight at his own game—rough and tumble, longshoreman, back-room stuff, where everything goes and the man which happens to slip loses! At that kind of thing, without seconds, gloves, bell, or rules, Ptomaine Joe had no equal, and he licked his lips eagerly when I told him I expected him to take this Daniels or else go back to the lumber camp where I found him!
We're just startin' out when Kid Roberts comes along with his pal, Logan. They're bound for the casino, where everybody goes at night on this excitin' island. I tried to draw back in the shadows where he wouldn't see my dilapidated features, but he did.
"Good heavens, Joe!" he gasps. "Who—what happened to you?"
"I—eh—I fell off a cliff in the dark!" I mumbled, pinchin' Ptomaine's arm for silence.
I didn't want Kid Roberts to know Daniels had manhandled me, for a great many good reasons. I knew the hot-tempered Kid, which loved me like a brother, would of dashed right off and broke Daniels in half, and I didn't want that bird killed. I just wanted him half killed, which I figured Ptomaine, fightin' his own way, would do to the queen's taste. Then again, sore as I was, I didn't care to have Kid Roberts risk breakin' his hands on Daniels with a big fight only a short time off. I have never yet got so mad that I forgot business!
Well, of course, Kid Roberts believes I fell off a cliff the same way he believes in Santy Klaus, but he don't question me further, prob'ly figurin' I'll explain matters in a day or so. He wants to know can he do anything and I says no thanks and after another searchin' worried look at me he goes out and joins Logan. Then me and Ptomaine sets forth to mark Mr. Richmond Daniels "Paid!"
Takin' a short cut to the casino, we get there before Kid Roberts and Logan. I parked Ptomaine outside with instructions to say nothin' to nobody and to duck if he seen the Kid comin', whilst I went in to find our prey. I nailed Daniels leanin' against the rail of the porch, alone. He removes a cigarette from his mouth to greet me with a wicked grin, lookin' over my battered pan with satisfaction.
"Your face looks terrible!" he remarks, coolly. "It's an offence to the eye. You should remain indoors until it heals, my man."
"Inside of half a hour you'd be more than willin' to trade your own face for mine, Mister," I says, grimly, "because yours is goin' to be retreated immediately. There's a friend of mine a little nearer your size waitin' outside. Let's go!"
"Kid Roberts?" asks Daniels, eagerly. He straightens up and tosses away the cigarette.
"Be yourself!" I snort, scornfully. "The Kid would kill you! You'll have a chance with Ptomaine—for a second! Look at him, you big four flusher, don't he look tasty?"
I grabbed his arm and swung him half-ways around so's he could see the impatient Ptomaine outside, loomin' up in the dusk like the rock of Gibraltar. Daniels gazed, frowned and throwed off my arm.
"If you think I have any intention of engaging in a brawl with a tenth-rate pugilist, you're crazy!" he says. "Stand aside!"
"Listen, Daniels," I says, plantin' myself in front of him as he tried to pass into the casino, "you had your fun with me, now it's my turn! Either you come down to the camp and fight Ptomaine or I'll bring him right up here on this porch. I"
"Oh, come on then!" he butts in savagely. "After I've sent all of this alleged gentleman boxer's retainers back to him on a shutter, I'll do the same for him!"
With that he vaults the railin' and me after him.
It was a strange procession which started down to the camp on the beach in the dazzlin' moonlight. Daniels stridin' ahead of us and not a word spoken all the ways down till I asked Ptomaine if he told anybody outside the casino what we was goin' to do.
"Only Rita King," grins Ptomaine. "I told her I was goin' to knock her rich boy friend for a row of bath houses!"
"You dumb-bell!" I hissed. "She'll tell the world and the bunch from the casino will rush down and stop it!"
"Then we better start now!" says Ptomaine, "I'll begin by breakin' his nose!"
He calls to Daniels. Daniels stops and Ptomaine walks up to him.
"You big yellah tramp," remarks Ptomaine, in a easy conversational tone, "I'm goin' to pound you into a jelly! You won't beat up no more guys half your size or hound no girls when"
Sock!
With the speed of a strikin' rattlesnake, Daniels's right fist shot from his hip and caught Ptomaine square on the mouth. It was a terrible punch—unexpected, perfectly measured and with two hundred pounds of muscle and bone behind it. It would of rocked Dempsey. It dropped Ptomaine as if he'd been hit with a axe. There was no question about whether or not he was out, but there was some doubt as to whether or not he was dead!
"Next!" sneers Daniels, wipin' his skinned knuckles with a silk handkerchief.
"Here!" comes a familiar voice, choked with rage—and Kid Roberts steps suddenly into the moonlight, with the white-faced Logan at his heels.
"Ah!" says Daniels, his lip curlin' as usual, "I have thrashed the manager and the sparring partner and now I shall make a job of it by thrashing the prima donna of the troupe!"
"At your service!" pants the Kid, manslaughter in each eye. "I would have accommodated you much sooner had I known you were responsible for Joe Murphy's condition. Miss King has told me—everything. Daniels, you are a despicable cur!"
Fifteen minutes later, stripped to the waist and with four-ounce gloves laced on their hands, Kid Roberts and Richmond Daniels faced each other in the trainin' ring on the beach. There's no referee, no timekeeper, no handlers, no roarin', screamin' crowd of fight bugs to urge 'em on. There's nobody but me, a kind of scared Logan, a dazed and mutterin' Ptomaine Joe, a cold bright moon and a boomin' ocean. There was to be no rounds, both agreein' to go till one or the other went out stiff. Logan excitedly calls their attention to the fact that the tide is comin' in and that it rises with remarkable speed on this island. He says if they must fight, to wait till the ring can be moved up further on the beach. Neither of 'em paid him the slightest notice, though the waves was rollin' as far as their ankles when they stepped into the ring.
There was no bell—they just started to fight! Kid Roberts held out his glove to shake as they came to the center of the ring, but with a snarl like a animal, Daniels knocked it aside and shot a wicked straight left to the same eye he had cut in the trainin' bout. The stitches promptly opened and the blood came in a stream, puttin' the Kid at a serious disadvantage in the very beginnin', but he just grinned, rocked Daniels with two stiff rights to the head and the battle was on!
I have seen some spectacular box fights in my time—fights which drove hard-boiled fans crazy, that had the crowd as limp and wilted at the finish as the scrappers themselves, fights in which sensation was piled on sensation till the customers was positively hysterical, but I have yet to see one, which, takin' it from all angles, could match this one on that beach for pure thrill! Here are two guys, perfectly matched, each around two hundred pounds of Grade-A fightin' machinery and fightin' blood, each a terrific hitter and a good boxer, each with murder in his heart. Sock, bam, biff, crunch! And all the time them angry waves is comin' in—higher and higher. Inside of ten minutes, they're flounderin' around in foamin' salt water swirlin' at their knees, battered, pantin' and bloody, but neither can land a decisive blow and neither will quit! Driven back to higher ground by Mr. Ocean, me, Logan and Ptomaine yells for them to call it off before they get drowned. They don't give us a tumble. A half dozen times both slipped to their knees in a desperate clinch and rolled around in the sand to be buried from sight by a extra big wave which left 'em spittin' water and gaspin' for breath when they stumbled dizzily to their feet, but—still fightin'!
The end come about five minutes after I sent Ptomaine runnin' to the casino for help to go in and tear 'em apart before they got swept out to sea. The water is now comin' above their hips with each inrush of waves. The ring posts has been uprooted and with the ropes tangled around 'em swishin' back and forth in the water to one side. Kid Roberts can only see out of his left eye, which is cut and bleedin', the right bein' closed as tight as a drum. Daniels is a sight which only a hospital interne could appreciate. He would have to be introduced to his own mother, because his face would mean nothin' to her in the shape it was in now!
As the mob from the casino come streamin' over the sand dunes with Ptomaine Joe in the lead, a heavy wave swept both Daniels and the Kid off their feet. Their heads come up together, and, pawin' around, they drew themselves erect by usin' each other's body for support. They slowly backed till the water is only slappin' against their knees. Then Daniels braced himself and swung a overhand right which glanced off the Kid's head. Kid Roberts swayed and a recedin' wave throwed him forward. He punched hard as he was fallin' and Daniels staggered back from a straight right to the mouth. The ring posts is floatin' near him and he manages to get hold of one in both his gloves, wrenchin' it loose from the ropes. Crack! It comes down on the Kid's shoulder and the crowd on the beach starts yellin' and wadin' out, me and Ptomaine showin' the way. It was over before we could reach 'em! Kid Roberts ducked under another vicious swing, of the post and hooked Daniels on the button with a short inside right. Daniels staggered, dropped the post and disappeared under the waves!
Kid Roberts looks around dazed, weavin' back and forth on his feet like a drunken man. The gang from the casino mills about him, but he don't seem to see 'em. He's lookin' for Daniels. About twenty yards aut in the swells under the moon, a head bobs up. The Kid shoves away the guys which wants to help him in, shakes his head to clear it, takes a deep breath and the next second he's gone, divin' under a wave. When he showed again he's treadin' water, with the limp and unconscious Daniels in his arms.
We got a life boat out to 'em, none too soon, and they laid on the bottom of it side by side on the ways in. Daniels opened his eyes and looked at the Kid, but not a word passed between 'em till we beached the boat and helped 'em out. One of Daniels's friends gives him a stiff drink of whiskey out of a silver flask, but Kid Roberts refuses the same, though I told him to go ahead and take it. We all gather 'round 'em, lookin' for handclasps, slaps on the shoulders, each tellin' the other what a great fighter he is. Nothin' of the kind! Daniels flexes his mighty arms and sneers at the fellow which has just rescued him from feedin' the fishes. Kid Roberts, the life saver, scowls back.
"A wave swept me off my feet—not you!" says Daniels. "Do you wish to continue?"
"With pleasure!" snarls the Kid.
Before any one half dreams they mean it, both land sizzlin' rights to the head and the amazed crowd scatters. Daniels put a left hook to the jaw and as he rushed to follow it up, the Kid shot a hard right to the heart and then brought the same glove up under the chin. Daniels fell to his knees, tried to get up, slipped back and lay flat on his stomach. Kid Roberts steps dizzily away.
"Ask him if he's had enough now!" he pants to Ptomaine.
Ptomaine kneels down and turns Daniels over like a sack of meal.
"He's stiff, Kid!" he says, "He"
But Kid Roberts has slumped down in the sand a yard from Daniels, dead to the world!