Fleming greeted the mention of the name with a lurid outburst that left no doubt as to his feelings.
His friend looked at him with surprise.
“You seem to be horribly sore,” he ventured. “I thought that like most New Yorkers you’d be rooting for him to win.”
“I hope they knock him out of the box,” Fleming hissed, with the venom of a snake.
[CHAPTER XVIII]
THE PLOT
“There are lots of people in Boston hoping the same thing,” replied Bixby. “But I think they’re due to be disappointed. It isn’t often they send that boy back to the shower.”
“He can be beaten like any one else,” snarled Fleming, his gorge rising as he heard Joe praised.
“Sure,” conceded Bixby. “The best of them have an off day at times. But they say he’s in splendid shape just now. That arm of his is certainly a dandy.”