The match maker grunts and waggles the cigar in his mouth.
"I'll give him a pocketful of tickets for the show," he says. "And he gits a reward of four bits on everyone he sells, besides his guarantee of twenty berries, win, lose, or police—which is enough for the big tramp! You can work out in the club gym if you wanna, and lemme give you a tip—this Kelly ain't never been knocked out, and he swings a nasty right. It wouldn't surprise me the slightest particle if he stopped that baby of yours in a round!"
"Well," I says, "I'm a bettin' fool myself, and them two hundred men we're gonna get won't pay our laundry bill here. I'll lay you my end of the gate at even money that Kid Roberts knocks Special Delivery Kelly dead! Do you fade me?"
"You're faded!" he grins. "If your guy flattens Kelly—not outpoints him, remember; he's gotta knock him—you git four hundred; if he do not, you git the raspberry! Why—"
"And that's all settled," I shuts him off. "Now where can I get a flash at this Kelly person?"
He presents me with a full-toothed smile and turns back to the poker tourney.
"Go over to the Acme Boiler Works any time between eight in the mornin' and four-thirty in the afternoon," he says. "Ask anybody and they'll point out Kelly. He's knowed as Paddy over there; but the minute he gits in the ring with that meal ticket of yours, you'll both find out why they call him 'Special Delivery'!".
Whilst I was palely ruminatin' over the interestin'
