That slows me up for a minute—but only for a minute.
"Where do you fight next?" I ask him.
"Madison Square Garden, on the fifteenth," says Hurricane. "I'm supposed to step fifteen frames with a boloney by the name of Ignorant Eddie Biff. I'll smack him dead in a round!"
"Good!" I says. "Now, what you want to do is to make up a party of, say, twenty-five of the most influential citizens of East Silo. Get the mayor, the big banker, the political boss and people like that. Pay all their expenses to New York and back and get them ringside boxes at the fight. When they see you knock out this Mr. Biff and hear that crowd go wild over you, they'll realize that maybe Lincoln was a great man in his day, but you are the man for the ages now!"
I wound up as enthusiastic as a three-headed cat in a creamery, but Hurricane shakes his head doubtfully.
"They may be somethin' to that layout of yours, kid," he says, "but what you are losin' track of is the fact that it would set me back about a grand to bring them jobbies down from East Silo to see me step with this Ignorant Eddie Biff. I wouldn't spend a thousand bucks on them babies if it was a felony not to do it!"
"Very well," I says scornfully. Then I hereby officially wash my hands of you and your troubles. Figure things out in your own way, I'm through! You
