hand was a ugly-lookin' purple and swelled to twice its size.
"I broke a bone or two when I idiotically hit that steam pipe before the fight to-night," he explains cheerfully. "That's why I—eh—rather favored it afterward!"
Imagine goin' into a fight with a broken hand! Imagine knockin' a two-hundred-and-fifteen-pound guy out with it!
"But—but," I splutters, "why did you go through with the scrap if you knew that, you darn fool! Why didn't you say somethin'? We could of called it off and—"
"That's exactly what I thought you would do," he smiles, "and I couldn't afford to have that happen. To be frank with you, I'm broke!"
He looks around curiously. "Where's Carney?" he asks. "He said some things to me I'd like to take up with him!" His voice was hard again.
"Oh, don't mind Dummy," I says. "He got a tough break to-night—lost the best scrapper in his stable!"
"Oh, I'm sorry!" he says. "Influenza?"
"Nope—inexperience!" I tells him. "Well, let's get outa here, hey?"
