When I started out, seven to four was being offered that Ike Bush would win, and two to three that he would win by a knockout. By two o’clock none of the joints taking bets were offering anything better than even money, and by half-past three Kid Cooper was a two-to-one favorite.

I made my last stop a lunch counter, where I tossed the news out to a waiter and a couple of customers while eating a hot beef sandwich.

When I went out I found a man waiting by the door for me. He had bowed legs and a long sharp jaw, like a hog’s. He nodded and walked down the street beside me, chewing a toothpick and squinting sidewise into my face. At the corner he said:

“I know for a fact that ain’t so.”

“What?” I asked.

“About Ike Bush flopping. I know for a fact that ain’t so.”