"Holy smoke!" exclaimed M'Ginnis, surveying Spike up and down in mock
amazement, "this ain't you, Kid--no, this sure ain't you. Looks all t'
th' company-promoter, don't he, Soapy?"
"'S' right, Kid, 's' right!" nodded the pallid youth, his smouldering
eyes always turning toward M'Ginnis.
"Say, now, Bud, quit your kiddin'!" said Spike petulantly.
"But, Gee whiz!" exclaimed M'Ginnis, tightening his grasp, "you sure are
some class, Kid, in that stiff collar an' sporty tie. How's the stock
market? Are ye a bull or a bear?"
"Ah, cut it out, Bud!" cried the lad, writhing.
"Right-o, Kid, right-o!" said M'Ginnis, loosing his hold. "You're comin'
over t' O'Rourke's t'night, of course?"
"Why, no, Bud--I can't."
"Oh, t' hell wid that--I got you all fixed up to go ten rounds wid Young
Alf, th' East Side Wonder--"
"What?" exclaimed Spike, his eyes bright and eager, "you got me a match
wi' Young Alf? Say, Bud--you ain't stringing me, are ye?"
"Not much. I told you I'd get ye a real chance--"
"Why," cried Spike, "if I was t' lick Young Alf, I'd be in line t' meet
th' top-notchers!"
"Sure--if you lick him!" nodded M'Ginnis grimly.
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