“I will findt me oud.” A colored boy was summoned. “Mistah Kenyon is in de pool-room, sah,” he informed the clerk. “All ride. Jusdt show dese chentlemens pack dere, yet.” They found the person they sought perched upon a window-sill, intently watching a game of billiards. He was a compactly-built youth of about twenty-two or three, neatly dressed, and with the flattened nose and swollen ear of the prize-fighter. He slipped down from his perch, and at their invitation went with them to a quiet corner of the room. When he found that they were looking for information upon the subject of the attack made upon him, he at once manifested great interest. “Police business?” inquired he. “No; we have private reasons for seeking information in this matter,” answered Kenyon. “Anything you can tell us will be appreciated in the proper way.” The little pugilist’s eyes snapped. “Now, that’s good talk!” exclaimed he. “You see, pal, I’m a stranger in a strange land, and my roll ain’t any too thick. New York is no place, just now, for a man in my line; and even if it was, I couldn’t take anyone on, the way I’m fixed here,” and he tapped his bandaged head significantly. “Your name is Kenyon, isn’t it?” “Well, neighbor, it is and it isn’t. I’ve used it ever since I broke into this mixing business, but my right name is Farral. You see, I was raised in Kenyon, Iowa, and when I found myself looking around for a name to put upon the fight cards in Chi. a few years ago, why, I just picked the name of my old town. Young Kenyon is a name the sporting editors know, and,” with some pride, “they also know that I work hard at me job.” “Tell me about this errand of yours to New York,” invited Kenyon. “Now, that’s where you stick me, bo; that’s a little passage that’s got me tied hand and foot! Ever since I got that letter I’ve been trying to dope it out, but it won’t work into shape, no matter how hard I try; I’m not strong on the think thing, anyhow, just at the present time. There’s something like bees gets to buzzing in my top whenever I overdo it.” “But you can tell us just how the thing came about, can’t you? That will not require you to do much thinking.” “Oh, sure, I can tell it to youse,” cheerfully. “But there ain’t a lot to tell, at that. You see, it’s this way: I’m sitting in my room one morning, fixing up a black eye that I got in a job the night before. Me landlady knocks on the door and chucks a letter over the transom. I opens it, see? Quick! for I think it might be more work, and work is the thing I’m looking for. The letter is from a guy named Forrester, and he tells me to move East as far as New York in a hurry. He allows that he’s got a good thing for me and encloses a check for expenses.