"Your father's check will be plenty receipt when it comes back from the bank," I says. "I won't give you no receipt which says that you have gave me ten thousand dollars. I might be misunderstood!'
"Do you think I would show it to anyone?" says Rags, trying to act indignant.
"You might lose it," I says, with a sarcastic grin.
"Oh, come on, Galen, act like a human being," says Rags. "You have no kick coming. If we have had a few tilts, why, you've always come out on top, haven't you? Won the fair lady and all that sort of thing!"
"One more mention of the fair lady, Rags," I says, stepping close to him, "and I'll put you on the floor, get me?" I look right at his friends, but they don't crack a word. "They's no use of dragging this conference out, Rags," I go on. "You and me will never be lovers, and we both know it! What d'ye want and who's your friends?"
"They're your friends too," says Rags, "or, at least, they want to be. Shake hands with Kansas City Yerks, Doc Neil, and Rudy Bernstein. You've heard of them, of course."
Of course I hadn't. I shook hands warily, and Kansas City Yerks clears his throat.
"You got a big thing in this box fight of yours, kid," he says. "A big thing! You ought to click off a couple of hundred grand, easy. How would you like to do it again in a couple of months?"
"What's the big idea?" I says.
"Listen!" butts in the fellow called Doc Neil, pushing Kansas City aside. "You guys waste too much
