"I'm gonna take that solemn-faced simp back of the African Desert and give him a chance at the welterweight t.i.tle!" he snorts. "I'll wallop that bird till he'll wish he had stayed over in dear old England and--"

"Stoppa!" comes a voice from the back of us, and we look around into the muzzles of two automatics. On the other end of them was Tony!

"I hear everyt'ing!" he snarls, wavin' the guns and glarin' at us. "I hear everyt'ing!"

The Kid looks at the guns and coughs, kinda nervous. I was glancin' at friend Tony, myself.

"Ain't that nice!" I remarks, feelin' my way carefully.

"What you mean?" snarls the ex-"No spika da Engleesh."

"Bein' able to hear everything," I explains, thinkin' to humour him.

"I'll bet right now you're listenin' to a little spicy scandal at some King's palace, eh?"

"Don't got funny!" he warns me.

"Ha! ha!" snickers the Kid. "Where d'ye get that got funny stuff?"

"What'sa that?" yells Tony, whirlin' on him and shovin' the guns under his nose.

The Kid gets pale and shuffles back a few steps.

"No spika da Engleesh!" he pipes, holdin' up his hand.

"Pah!" grunts Tony, registerin' disgust. "Me--I laugh at you! All the tima you talk 'bout Meester Van Ness, I standa righta here with the ear wide open. You no feexa n.o.body--maybe Tony he'sa feexa you! I hear you say you no lika Meester Van Ness because he'sa no laugha. Sure, he'sa laugha--but not all the tima on the streeta like crazee fel'.

When Meester Van Ness--ah, he'sa granda man--when he'sa wanna laugha, he'sa go home, to he'sa rooma, shutta the door and standa in the corner. Then he'sa a laugha ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho!--lika that!

That'sa lasta heem all day!"

"Oh, Lady!" says the Kid, holdin' his side. "Can you tie that?" He looks over and sees Van Ness in a clinch with Miss Vincent--and son, you could see the muscles rollin' under his coat sleeves. "Look at the big, ignorant b.o.o.b now!" he howls.

"Ignoranta!" hisses Tony. "Whata you mean, ignoranta? Seven difference language thisa granda Meester Van Ness he'sa speak! He'sa teacha everybody--joosta lika wan college!"

"Why don't you get him to teach you Eyetalian then, Stupid?" sneers the Kid. "You're a fine thing to luck your way past Ellis Island when you can't even tell me what _Bomb Germo_ means!"

"Don't got funny!" warns Tony. "What gooda now for you be fighting champion for the world, eh? Leetle Tony he'sa standa here calla you names and what can you do, eh? Nothing--joosta nothing! Champion, eh?

Ha, ha, ha! Don't maka me laugha, Meester Fightaire!" He shoves the gun in the Kid's face and snarls, "Now!" he says. "Tella Tony you feela sorry for soaka heem in jaw!"

The Kid bites his lip and edges in a bit. Right away I got sorry for Tony!

"I'm sorry!" sneers Scanlan slowly. "Awful sorry--just thinkin' of it has got me all broke up. I meant to let you have it on the beak, but I'll make up for it now!"

He looks over Tony's shoulder suddenly and yells. "Hey, don't throw that!"

If they had rehea.r.s.ed the act, Tony couldn't have fallen for the plant any harder. He twists his neck around to look back like the Kid figured and Scanlan started one from his left ankle. It caught Tony right on the b.u.t.ton--which in English is the point of the chin--and Tony gives a imitation of a seal. He took a dive!

While we're takin' him away from his artillery, I look up and there's Van Ness lookin' down at us and frownin'. He reaches inside that Roman toga thing he's wearin' and comes out with a round piece of gla.s.s which he balances on one eye.

"Ah--I say!" he pipes, glarin' at the Kid. "This is getting jolly annoying, my man. It appears that every time we meet, you have just committed a murderous a.s.sault upon my dresser! Since you are the--ah--champion fighter of the universe, why do you not joust with more of its inhabitants and not center your activities upon one who knows nothing of the art of self-defense?"

The Kid grunts, takin' away Tony's guns and removin' a couple of them long banana knives from his clothes. Meanwhile, the daredevil dresser is showin' no more signs of life than a sleepin' alligator, so I figured it was about time to pull a little first aid stuff. I turned him over on his back and took off his coat, grabbin' it by the bottom and holdin' it up. They was a sudden crash and--Sweet Cookie! A lot of things fell on the ground, among 'em bein' one set of bra.s.s knuckles, one blackjack, two more guns, a thing that looked like a bayonet, five boxes of cartridges, a small bottle of nitro-glycerine and three sticks of dynamite! The last two fell in the folds of the coat, or we'd all have gone away from there. Tony's master looks at the layout with his eyes stickin' so far out of his head you could have knocked 'em off with a cane.

Scanlan eyes him and laughs.

"This is the bird which don't know nothin' about self-defense, eh?" he grins, pointin' to Tony. "Well, if he'd been in Belgium a few years ago, I bet the Germans would never have got through!"

"Oh, I say!" gasps Van Ness. "This is a bit of a shock! Why the fellow is a walking a.r.s.enal!"

"He's more like a sleepin' fort, now!" I says, pointin' to Tony on the turf.

"Look at the chances you been takin' havin' a guy like that fasten your garters and so forth," pipes Scanlan. "You ought to thank us for exposin' him!"

Then Tony comes to life and havin' helped him down, the Kid helps him up.

"_Sapristi_!" remarks Tony, glarin' at him. "You bigga stiffa!

Sometime Tony he'sa feexa you for dis! Whata you hitta me with?"

"I think it was a left hook," the Kid tells him, rubbin' his chin, like he ain't sure.

"Aha!" snarls Tony. "I know you never hit with your feest sooch a punch! Don't got funny with me any more! I wanna tella you, you keepa up knock it down Tony every fiva, tena, fifteen minootes and some time Tony he'sa got mad! When Tony he'sa got mad--" He stops and makes a terrible face at me and the Kid, "--when Tony he'sa got mad, something she'sa gotta fall!--dat'sa all!"

"Well, you been doin' all the fallin' so far," I says, "and--"

"Ah--I say!" b.u.t.ts in Van Ness--and Tony sees him for the first time, I guess, because he shivered and got pale. "I say," he goes on, takin' a slant at Tony through the trick eyegla.s.s, "just what does this mean, Antonio? Why are you walking about with this extraordinary collection of weapons on your person?" He points his finger at the munitions on the ground, and Tony's eyes follows his. At the same time he makes a little clickin' noise in his throat and jumps for the pile.

"Where is she the gooda carbolic acid?" he snarls. "And whosa taka my eleven incha stiletto?"

"How dare you ignore my question!" thunders Van Ness. "What are you doing with all those weapons? Answer me!"

"'Scuse a me!" says Tony, makin' a bow and takin' off his hat. "I getta them for my brudda!"

"Where's your brother?" asks the Kid. "In Russia?"

"'Sno use _you_ talka to me!" growls Tony, "I no talka back. Sometime Tony he'sa getta mad and then--"

"Come, come!" interrupts Van Ness, kinda sharp. "The weapons--what of them?"

"'Scuse a me!" bows Tony with another smile. "My brudda he'sa live in Santa Francisco. He'sa fina fel'--my brudda. He'sa name Joe. He'sa come this countree five years ago, no fren's, no spika da Engleesh, no nothing! They putta heem in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the sheepa wit' coupla thousand other fel' from seventy-six other countree. One fel' say my Joe he'sa no be able to leava the sheepa at--at--what you call? I don't know--I teenk maybe Chicago, Pennsylvania, Coney Island--I don't know joosta now! Anyhow thisa fel' say Joe he'sa no be able to leava the sheepa wherever he'sa wanna go--eef he'sa got no money, you 'stanna me? Joe he'sa tank dis kinda fel', say coupla nica prayer for heem and then everybody she'sa a maka sleepa. Joe he'sa get up and taka four hundred dollar from thisa nica fel'--whosa sleepa lika he'sa dead--so Joe he'sa be able to leeva the sheepa! He'sa a smarta fel', eh?

That'sa Joe. He'sa my brudda!"

"Oh, Lady!" says the Kid. "What was you takin' him the ammunition for?"

"Don't spika to me!" snorts Tony. "I no answera you! I tella Meester Van Ness. He'sa my boss. He'sa fina fel', too--joosta lika my brudda!"

"How dare you!" splutters Van Ness, his face as red as a ale-hound's nose. "What do you mean by that?"

"'Scuse a me!" says Tony. "Don't get mad for Tony. No spika da Engleesh very gooda--maybe I maka meestake! Joe he'sa writa me come over Santa Francisco queek, because he'sa gotta the trouble wif he'sa landlord. Disa fel' he'sa a wanta da rent maybe, I don't know, but Joe he'sa wanta me bring something so he'sa can feex disa fel' nex' time he come around, you 'stanna me? He say he'sa a bigga fel'--tougha nut!

Yesterday I go out and getta wan gun for Joe. Then I teenk maybe that ain't enough for poor leetle Joe against thisa bigga stiffa landlord, so I stoppa drugga store, hardaware, meata store, five, six, sevena place and get somet'ing for Joe he'sa feex landlord. Then I hear thisa fel' say he'sa gonna feexa _you_!" Tony swings around and points at the Kid. "Tony he'sa don't care if thisa bigga stiffa he's a champion for the world. Tony he's a gotta knifa, gun, dynamite, carbolic acida, everything for fighta. I talka to heem sweeta and he'sa knocka me down wit' a hook! While I sleepa on the dirt, somebody she'sa taka my gooda carbolic acida and stiletto I getta for Joe!"

"Oh, Lady!" yells the Kid, slappin' me on the back. "This guy is a riot!"