TIBERIUS SMITH
Tib, throwing out his panting chest, ignored his opportunity to finish the brute, and instead walked in his cocky gait to the ropes and reached out a trembling hand and patted the kid's white hair.
"That moment of tenderness was near his undoing. For the youngster grabbed his crimsoned fingers with all his tiny strength and wouldn't let go. And Tib, despite the fact Chuck was now up and doing, with a heart to make him look like a minced ham, would not yank rudely away. As a result they clinched, and Tib got a stinger on the side that nearly laid him low. I called time repeatedly, but the chief was thoroughly inflamed now, because of the elbow hook, and would not break so long as he thought he was winning. Then the kid took fright, his foolish baby mind instinctively telling him the two men weren't acting polite, and he sent up a shrill howl you could hear even above the guttural clamor of the on-lookers.
"When Tib heard this quivering pipe he struggled like a madman, and gave Chuck the edge of his hand on the bridge of the nose. It was one of those rasping, irritating moves that bring tears, and the double-crosser had to back up.
"‘I'm almost too old for this game,' growled Tib, his breath coming in sobs. 'And that rogue acts more unwholesome every round. But wait, I'll teach him who's holding big casino.'
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