“has got his lamps on something that looks good to him. With you, it’s this dame that you’re afraid to say your say to. With me, it was to win out in the ring. Well, you’ll lose just like I did.”
“Why do you think I shall lose?” I asked warmly.
“’Cause,” said he, “you’re afraid to go in the ring, You dassen’t stand up before a professional. Your case and mine is just the same. You’re a amateur; and that means that you’d better keep outside of the ropes.”
“Well, I must be going,” I said, rising and looking with elaborate care at my watch.
When I was twenty feet away the park-bencher called to me.
“Much obliged for the dollar,” he said. “And for the dime. But you’ll never get’er. You’re in the amateur class.”
“Serves you right,” I said to myself, “for hobnobbing with a tramp. His impudence!”
But, as I walked, his words seemed to repeat: themselves over and over again in my brain. I think I even grew angry at the man.
“I’ll show him!” I finally said, aloud. “I’ll show him that I can fight Reddy Burns, too—even knowing who he is.”
