THE MEXICAN
"It 's all right, Kelly," came the slow response. "He can put up a fight,"
"I suppose you'll be sayin' next that he can lick Ward," Kelly snapped.
Roberts considered judicially.
"No, I won't say that. Ward's a top-notcher and a ring general. But he can't hashhouse Rivera in short order. I know Rivera. Nobody can get his goat. He ain't got a goat that I could ever discover. And he 's a two-handed fighter. He can throw in the sleep-makers from any position."
"Never mind that. What kind of a show can he put up? You 've been conditioning and training fighters all your life. I take off my hat to your judgment. Can he give the public a run for its money?"
"He sure can, and he'll worry Ward a mighty heap on top of it. You don't know that boy. I do. I discovered him. He ain't got a goat. He 's a devil. He 's a wizzy-wooz if anybody should ask you. He'll make Ward sit up with a show of local talent that'll make the rest of you sit up. I won't say he'll lick Ward, but he'll put up such a show that you'll all know he's a comer."
"All right." Kelly turned to his secretary.
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