THE MEXICAN
"What will sixty-five per cent, of the gate receipts be?" Rivera demanded.
"Oh, maybe five thousand, maybe as high as eight thousand," Danny broke in to explain. "Something like that. Your share'll come to something like a thousand or sixteen hundred. Pretty good for takin' a licking from a guy with my reputation. What d' ye say?"
Then Rivera took their breaths away.
"Winner takes all," he said with finality.
A dead silence prevailed.
"It's like candy from a baby," Danny's man- ager proclaimed.
Danny shook his head.
"I 've been in the game too long," he explained. "I 'm not casting reflections on the referee, or the present company. I 'm not sayin' nothing about book-makers an' frame-ups that sometimes happen. But what I do say is that it 's poor business for a fighter like me. I play safe. There 's no tellin'. Mebbe I break my arm, eh? Or some guy slips me a bunch of dope?" He shook his head solemnly. "Win or lose, eighty is my split. What d' ye say, Mexican?"
Rivera shook his head.
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