you feel bad. I gotta reason. I want to make you see this ain't going
to be no society walk-over, with the Four Hundred looking on from the
pews and poppa signing cheques in the background. Say, did I ever tell
you how I beat Kid Mitchell?"

"Does it apply to the case in hand?"

"Does it what to the which?"

"Had it any bearing on my painful position? I only ask, because that's
what is interesting me most just now, and, if you're going to change
the subject, there's a chance that my attention may wander."

"Sure it does. It's a--what d'you call it when you pull something
that's got another meaning tucked up its sleeve?"

"A parable?"

"That's right. A--what you said. Well, this Kid Mitchell was looked on
as a coming champ in those days. He had cleaned up some good boys,
while I had only gotten a rep about as big as a nickel with a hole in
it. I guess I looked pie to him. He turkey-trotted up to me for the
first round and stopped in front of me as if he was wondering what had
blown in and whether the Gerry Society would stand for his hitting it.
I could see him thinking 'This is too easy' as plain as if he'd said
it. And then he took another peek at me, as much as to say, 'Well,
let's get it over. Where shall I soak him first?' And while he's doing
this I get in range and I put my left pretty smart into his lunch-wagon
and I pick up my right off the carpet and hand it to him, and down he
goes. And when he gets up again it's pretty nearly to-morrow morning and