"Ladees and gen-tul-men, I now take pleasure in in-ter-ducing to you Mr. Ed Fiteon, father and handler of Johnny Fiteon, who wears th' bantamweight crown o' th' world."
The crowd made evident its vehement gratitude for Ed's share in Johnny's creation.
"Chee," whispered Moxey to Al, as they sat close and rapt, with shining eyes, on the dollar seats high up and far away, "they'd tear up the chairs for Johnny's mother if they'd perduce her."
But now something was happening by the east entrance. The cheering suddenly ceased, A low anxious buzzing whisper ran over the entire assemblage. Men stood up to look eastward regardless of monitions from behind to sit down. Something was cutting through the crowd from the east entrance to the ring. It was Kid O'Mara in his cotton bathrobe preceded by a gigantic mulatto and followed by two smaller Caucasians.
Moxey's bony fingers dug suddenly into Al's biceps. "Kid, you gotta do it, Kid, you gotta," he whispered. "O, fer God's sake, Kid."
Al was surprised. "Are you with O'Mara?" he asked.
"Am I with him?" answered Moxey with a sob in his voice; "am I with him—he's me cousin."
"O'Mara your cousin?"
"Lipkowsky's his right name—same as mine. Look at his beak and see."
There was no doubt of it. "Kid O'Mara's" proboscis corroborated Moxey's claim.