he had only whistled a few bars of "my little irish rose," and had barely got into the first page of his story of life on the prairie, when kid brady appeared. the kid had come to pay a farewell visit. he had not yet begun training, and he was making the best of the short time before such comforts should be forbidden by smoking a big black cigar. master maloney eyed him admiringly. the kid, unknown to that gentleman himself, was pugsy's ideal. he came from the plains, and had, indeed, once actually been a cowboy; he was a coming champion; and he could smoke big black cigars. there was no trace of his official well-what-is-it-now? air about pugsy as he laid down his book and prepared to converse.