hired out for no wet nurse, and I told the
crowd so.

Just as I was makin' my sneak this quiet-speakin' chap falls in
alongside and begins to talk to me. First off I sized him up for one of
them English Johnnies that had lost his eyeglass. But that's where I was
dead wrong. He wasn't no Johnnie, and he wasn't no tinhorn sport. But he
was a new one on me. They don't grow many like him, I guess, so no
wonder I didn't get wise right away.

"Think the Lamb's all in?" says he.

"All in!" says I. "He never had anything to put in. He was licked before
the bell tapped. And me trainin' him for five weeks! I'm goin' to kick
myself all the way back to New York."

"I'll help you," says he. "I backed that Lamb of yours to win."

"How much?" says I.

"Oh, only a few hundred."

"But you ain't seen him licked yet," says I.

"I'll take your word for it," says he.

Say, that was no tinhorn play, was it? He goes off and leaves his good
money up, just on a flier like that.

"You're the real goods," says I.

"I can return the sentiment," says he.

So we took the midnight East. When we got the morning papers at Omaha we
saw that the Lamb only lasted half-way through the seventh, and
'possumed the count at that. Well, we got some acquainted before we hit
Chicago, and by the time we'd landed in Jersey City I'd signed articles
with him for a year. He calls it secretary, but I holds out for sparrin'
partner.

Oh, he can handle the mitts some, all right; none of your parlor
Y. M. C. A. business, either, but give and take. He strips at one hundred
and forty and can stand punishment like a stevedore. But, of course,
there's no chance of ever gettin' him on the platform. He likes to go his
four rounds before dinner, just to take the drab coloring off the world in
general. That's the way he puts it.

Take him all around, he's a thoroughbred. I know that much, but after
that I don't follow him. I used to wonder sometimes. Give most Johnnies
his pile and turn 'em loose, and what would they do? They'd wear out the
club window-sills, and take in pink teas, and do the society turn. But
not for him. He's a mixer, the Boss is. He wants to see things, all
kinds.

Sometimes he lugs me along and sometimes he don't. It all depends on
whether I'd fit in. When he heads for Fifth Avenue I know I'm let out.
But when he gets into a sack coat and derby hat I'm bettin' that maybe
we'll fetch up somewheres on the East Side. Perhaps it'll be the gra