"Now, boys, the only surprise he'll take home to her is a battered face unless you want to surprise him with—"
A silver dollar spun through the smoke-filled air and hit the canvas at Murray's feet. That started it. For a full two minutes the air was thick with flying coins. They clinked and rolled around in the ring. Bills weighted with coins caromed along the canvas floor.
Murray and a few others collected the money and counted it, standing in the ring.
"Is it enough?" asked a voice from the crowd.
Murray looked up with a broad smile. His hat, held in his hands, was brimming with the money picked from the floor of the ring.
"Five hundred and fifty-six dollars and sixty cents," he said.
"Where's the kid?" someone demanded.
"That's the idea, show us the kid," shouted the crowd.
* * * * *
When John was brought back into the ring, embarrassed, awkward, trying to smile through his swollen lips, the "house" was quiet. Murphy pushed him to the center, where Murray was waiting for him.