I

I don’t know nothing that you don’t know, but if you want to hear it again, all right. I’ll have to start back pretty near two years ago, the first time I seen Jim after he stopped Big Wheeler and win the title. He’d signed up with a circus and I happened to be in Omaha when it hit there. I run into them on the street, Jim and his manager, Larry Moon. I had them come to my hotel where we could talk things over.

“Well, Jim,” I said, “how does it feel to be champ?”

“Not so good,” he says.

“Well,” I said, “you never did care much for the glory. But still and all it’s pretty sweet to have all that dough.”

“All what dough?” says Jim.

“Why,” I said, “what you got out of the Wheeler fight, and what you’re getting with this troupe, and what you’ve got a chance to get.”

Jim laughed and so did Moon.

“Listen, Pinkie,” says Moon. “You’re an old pal, so I don’t mind telling you a couple of facts. Our net profits out of the Wheeler fight wouldn’t pay for a Chinaman’s personal laundry. We’re making a little money with this show, but we’ve got to spend it because we’re champion. We’ve got an offer to make a picture, but it ain’t so much and we’ll have to blow the most of it to show we’re a good fella. Further and more, Jim hates that kind of work. They’s one thing he can do better than anybody else, and that’s fight. And that’s all he wants to do, just fight.”

“Well,” I said, “let him fight! He don’t have to fight for nothing.”

“Let him fight who?” says Larry.

“Why, anybody that’ll take him on,” I said. “Let him be a champ like some of the old boys and battle everybody that wants his game.”

“That’s a grand idear!” said Larry. “Now maybe you’ll go ahead and name four or five guys that wants his game; that is, guys that’s got enough chance with him so as they’d draw two hundred people at the gate.”

“Well,” I said, “how about⁠—” I had to stop and think.

“Sure!” said Larry. “There you are! Now you’ll get some idear of what we’re up against. You say, ‘Let him be a champ like some of the old boys and fight everybody.’ That’d be OK if we was living twenty or thirty years ago when they was a bunch round like Fitz, Corbett and McCoy, and Choynski, Sharkey, Ruhlin, big Jeff, and all that gang; any one of them liable to knock each other’s block off. But who have we got to pick from? They ain’t a man living or dead that’s got a chance in God’s world to even make this baby prespire, and the worst of it is that everybody knows it. Here I got a champion at a time when everything’s big money and he should ought to be worth a million fish to me and himself, and he ain’t worth a dime. And he won’t be worth a dime, neither, unless I can build something up.

“They’s just one chance for us,” says Larry, “and that’s to have some young fella spring up from nowheres and knock five or six of these ‘contenders’ for a gool; then we’ll have to stall a w’ile and pretend like we’re scared of him till we’ve got the bugs thinking that maybe he has a look-in. The one thing in our favor is that people loves to see a champion get socked, especially my champion, who ain’t no matinée idol. So if they think they’s a man capable of socking him, they’ll pay to see it come off. Believe me, if we do get a break like that, I’ll demand a purse that’ll knock their eye out. Because fights is going to be few and far between for my little ward. His trouble is that he’s too good. He’d be better if he was worse. Right now they’s no man in sight that it wouldn’t be a joke to match him with. So, as I say, all we can do is watch and pray and hope that some hero pops up before the heavyweight champion of the world dies of starvation. Him and his manager both.”

II

It was quite a w’ile after this when I was in New York and dropped in at the apartment where Jim and Larry was living.

“Set down,” said Moon. “Jim’s out buying new records, but I expect him right back.”

So we set and chinned till the champ showed up. He’d boughten the afternoon papers and he showed us the big headlines about the scrap in London⁠—“Goulet Stops Bradford in First Round.”

“That Englishman must be a fine heel!” said Jim. “This little French boy popped him on the chin and he laid down and rolled over like a circus dog.”

Larry grabbed the papers and read the story. “Boys,” he says, “this may be it!”

“May be what?” says Jim.

“Our chance!” said Moon. “This thing might be built up till it meant something!”

“Say, listen,” says the champ; “I and you have been together long enough so as we ought to be able to speak the same language. But when you say ‘This thing might be built up,’ I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about this thing that come off in London,” said Larry. “Here’s the champion of England and the champion of France, the only two countries over there that has boxing. Well, the champion of France stops this Englishman with a punch and that makes him the champion of Europe. And it makes him look pretty good to the English because they was all stuck on this Bradford. And what looks good to the English looks good to a lot of people here. The way the papers plays it up, you can see they figure they’s a good deal of interest in it. Further and more, this guy Goulet is a war hero. He’s the idol of Europe and the champion of Europe, and if he was built up right he’d be a great card over here. That’s what I’m talking about, a match between their champ and our champ for the championship of the world.”

“You don’t mean match me with this Goulet?” said Jim.

“That’s exactly what I mean” says Moon. “All right,” says Jim: “You’re my matchmaker and I fight who you pick out. But I don’t see how you come to overlook Benny Leonard.”

III

I stayed round town and seen Larry two or three times, “It’s going to be softer than I figured,” he told me. “Those writers over in England has went cuckoo over the Frenchman. They was so nuts about Bradford that they think the guy that stopped him must be a cave man. And our papers is printing all the junk and their readers falls for it. As a matter of fact, I suppose Johnny Coulon could knock Bradford acrost the channel, but don’t tell nobody I said that. Though I guess they wouldn’t believe it anyway. The combination of what them big English reporters say, along with Goulet being a war hero and handsome⁠—well, it’s making him a popular idol in America.

“But the thing’s got to be nursed along and worked up, and that’s my job. It’ll take time, but it’ll be worth it. The tough problem ain’t getting the fans steamed up. They’ll take care of themselves. What I’ve got to do is convince some guy with money and a lot of nerve that it would be a fight, not a murder. I’ve already stuck one line in the papers that I’m proud of. Maybe you seen it. I said that while Jim Dugan wasn’t scared of nobody in the world, still he felt like he ought to give the American contenders first shot. Because this Goulet has showed that he’s got a wallop and he might land a lucky one on Jim. And we’d hate to see the title leave the old U.S.A. Not so bad, was it?”

A few weeks later it was in the papers that Goulet and his manager, La Chance, was coming over. The picture people had made the Frenchman a sweet offer and they was no money to be picked up in France even for a champion.

“All I hope,” said Moon, “is that he won’t get seasick. Judging from his pictures, he ain’t no sideshow fat man at best and we don’t want him to look no skinnier than usual or our match will be all wet.”

Well, I don’t know if he’d been seasick or not, but he certainly was a brittle-looking bird. The first time I seen him, up to one of the roof shows, I thought the guy that pointed him out must be mistaken. But it really was him⁠—a pale, frail boy that if he’d went to college, the football coaches would of rushed him for cheerleader. As for him standing up in a box fight with the man that had sprinkled Big Wheeler all over Ohio, well, it was just a laugh.

“You may as well forget it,” I said when I seen Moon. “Your show’s a flop and you won’t get no backer.”

“Watch me,” he says. “Give me time and a fair break in the luck!”

So one day he calls up the hotel where the Frenchman was staying and made a date with his manager, La Chance.

“Listen, Mr. La Chance,” he said. “If you’ll let me have a free hand, and you do what I say, I can make some real money for you and me both. Suppose I could get your man matched with Dugan. How much would you want for your share?”

“I can’t speak no English,” said La Chance.

“How about two hundred thousand dollars?” said Moon.

This time he really couldn’t speak no English. He’d swooned.

They called the house physician and brought him to and laid him on the bed.

“A heart attack!” says the Doc. “Don’t let him get excited.”

“All right,” said Larry. “I guess I better go.”

He started to follow the doctor out.

“Wait a minute!” says the sick man of Europe.

So Moon turned round and come back.

“My heart’s all right now,” said La Chance. “It was just the first shock.

“You made mention of a sum of money⁠—two hundred thousand⁠—was it francs?”

“I don’t know nothing about francs,” said Larry. “I asked you a plain question: Will your man fight my man for two hundred thousand dollars?”

“How much would our share be?” said La Chance.

“I’m talking about your share,” says Larry. “Two hundred thousand for you, draw, lose or get killed.”

La Chance sprung at him with a kiss for both cheeks, but Larry ducked away.

“You’ve got to let me run this,” he said. “You’ve got to put yourself in my hands and do everything I say.”

“Absolutely!” says the Frenchman.

“All right,” says Larry. “Now, in the first place, don’t get the idear in your head that this is going to be a quick cleanup. It’ll take time⁠—maybe a year. What are you fellas going to do when you’ve finished your picture?”

“Well,” said La Chance, “we thought maybe we’d stay over here and have a few fights.”

“No!” says Larry. “You go right back home and don’t fight nobody! You stay there till you hear from me. I think it’d be a good idear for you to have one bout in this country, to show that your man can knock somebody besides that English tumbler. But I’ll pick out the man for you to fight and I’ll let you know when I’ve got him. He’ll be somebody that you can’t help licking, not by no possible chance. You won’t get much money for it, but it’ll be advertising. Is that all right with you?”

“Oui, oui,” says La Chance. “What else?”

“Nothing else,” said Moon.

IV

Several months is supposed to elapse between these two acts. During this time Dugan has to eat, so he takes on a setup out in Michigan and knocks him in three rounds, or two rounds longer than necessary. Also, they pick out a guy for Goulet to trim⁠—old Tommy Fogel. This “fight” takes place over in Jersey and Tommy surprises them. He manages to stand up three rounds without his crutches. The Frenchman looks fast as a streak and everybody gets excited. People is saying to each other, “Even if he is a little light he may be just the kind of a fighter that would give Dugan trouble. He’s in there and out again like a flash and he’s hard to hit. Jim ain’t never faced a man like him. He’s liable to run the big boy ragged.”

A little w’ile after this great battle Jim and Larry get hungry again and they accept an offer of a hundred thousand to meet a big horse named Joe Barnes. Dugan has knocked him before and can do it again and they ain’t much danger in taking him on, though some of the wise birds thinks different. They think Larry is risking the title because Barnes is a guy that fights five nights a week and he’s always in shape and he’s so tough that nobody ever did stop him except Jim himself. As a matter of fact, Larry ain’t running no more risk than getting in a bath tub. Because w’ile all the wise guys know that Jim can punch, what they don’t seem to realize is that he can take it.

Anyway, this bout with Barnes was in the Big Town and Jim trained for it on a ship and when he clumb in the ring he was still at sea. In the second round Barnes clipped him on the chin with all he had. And all he had wasn’t half what he needed. After a w’ile Dugan got his land legs and begin to improve and he stopped Barnes in the twelfth with a funny-looking punch to the waistline. But they wasn’t no time during the scrap when he looked like himself and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was under wraps as well as in bad shape. However it happened, it made people think Jim wasn’t the fighter his friends claimed; it made him look like he could be licked, and that was a boost for the Goulet match.

V

They’s a big steamship man, Robert Crawley, that had kind a contract with La Chance and Goulet. The agreement was that if Goulet seen a chance for a big match Crawley was to be the backer. If he wanted to. If he didn’t, he was to step out.

Well, Crawley’s got a partner, Bill Guthrie, who Moon had met. So Moon phones them that he has been in communication with La Chance and La Chance says his man is ready to fight Dugan if a suitable purse is guaranteed.

“I thought maybe you’d like to talk it over,” says Larry.

So Crawley and Guthrie said they would and Moon asks them to come up and see him in a couple of days.

“Now,” said Larry to me, “I’m going way downtown for lunch and you can come along if you want to. But if you don’t like Spanish cooking you better stay home.”

So I went with him to a joint off lower Broadway. They was a flock of Spanish dishes on the bill of fare, but what Moon ordered for him and I was plain ham and eggs.

W’ile the one waiter was out getting it, Moon left me and went over to the guy that had showed us to our table. They talked together for pretty near a half hour and I was through eating when Larry come back. He took a look at his food and passed it up.

“I’ve made a date with the head waiter for half past two,” he says. “That’s the soonest he can get off. If you haven’t nothing to do you can go along with us.”

“Where to?” I asked him.

“Shopping,” he said.

“Well,” I says, “I guess I better stick with you. When a man goes nuts he ought to have a friend along.”

So the two of us walked down to the Battery and fooled round till it was time to keep the date. We dropped in at the restaurant again and come out with the head waiter and the greasy bird that had waited on us. We went over to Broadway and got a taxi. Moon give the driver his orders and we started uptown. We stopped at Livington’s.

“Men’s clothing,” said Moon, and the man showed us where to go.

Well, to cut it short, we was in there an hour and when we come away our two waiter friends had bundles containing a complete new makeup⁠—two silk hats, Prince Albert coats, gray pants, fancy shirts, ties that would knock you dead, and collars like Senator Smoot’s.

“That’s all today, boys,” said Larry. “Here’s twenty-five bucks apiece and you’ll each get seventy-five more tomorrow. Don’t forget nothing,” he says to the head waiter, “and especially that envelope I give you.”

So we left them with their packages.

I was amongst those present the next afternoon when Crawley and Guthrie showed up. Moon had sent Dugan away.

“Now,” says Larry to our visitors, “we may as well get down to business. As I told you over the phone, I been corresponding with La Chance and he’s willing to fight us if he can get his price. But he said I would have to let Mr. Crawley handle the promotion. So I said that suited me.”

“It don’t look like a match,” said Crawley. “Goulet’s a great boy, but look at the difference in size!”

Moon laughed.

“They’s nowheres near as much difference as they was between Jim and Big Wheeler,” he says. “And you know what Jim done to him!”

“That’s all right,” said Guthrie, “but your man weighs pretty near two hundred and when a man’s that big he’s big enough for anybody. But take a man that weighs two hundred and put him against a man that weighs round 165, and the difference counts. Look at Johnson and Ketchel!”

“Now listen,” says Larry. “In the first place, my man won’t weigh 190 stripped; he may tip the beam at ten or twelve pounds more than that, but only in secret. In the second place, if the public demands the match, what do we care if the two men stacks up together like a pimple and a goiter?”

“That’s true enough,” says Crawley. “If the public does want the match.”

“You know they want the match!” said Moon. “Or if you don’t I do. And promoters wants it, too, from the number of offers I’ve had.”

“Offers from who?” says Guthrie.

“I ain’t at liberty to tell,” says Larry. “But it don’t make no difference anyway. You’ve got first crack at it on account of your contract. The question is, do you want it?”

“Yes, we want it,” said Crawley. “That is, if we can get it at a reasonable figure.”

“I’m listening,” says Larry.

“Well,” said Crawley, “your man is champion and entitled to the biggest share. We’d guarantee you a hundred thousand and Goulet fifty.”

“I see what you mean,” says Larry. “You mean you don’t want to handle it and you’ll release Goulet.”

“Where do you get that?” says Guthrie. “We don’t mean no such a thing! We’re making a legitimate offer and a good big one.”

“You’re kidding,” says Larry. “I got a hundred thousand for the match with Barnes and that was just a workout. But forgetting me entirely, what about Goulet? The least he’ll take is two hundred thousand, and if you don’t believe it, cable his manager.”

Just then in come Larry’s butler, or whatever he is.

“Two gentlemen to see you,” he says.

“Who is it?” says Larry.

“Them two foreigners again,” says the man.

“Oh, the two Cubans,” said Larry. “Take them in the side room and tell them to wait. Now,” he says, “where was we? Oh, yes, I was telling you what La Chance wants. If you don’t care to take the trouble to cable, here’s a letter from him.”

And he give them a letter to read. When they’d read it he said: “You see what he says in there about you. He says Mr. Crawley has treated him OK and he wants him to have first refusal of this match. That’s the only reason I’ve bothered you gentlemen. Confidentially, I didn’t think you’d want to handle a thing as big as this. So just give us our release and they’s nobody hurt.”

“Who would you give it to?” says Guthrie.

“Well,” says Moon, “I’m going to tell you men something, but I don’t want it to go no further. They’s two men in the next room that’s been pestering me to death. I promised they’d have their final answer today, but I didn’t expect them to get here till you fellas had left. When I got a release from you, I was going to phone Charley Riggs and tell him he could have the match at our figure, which is $500,000. That’s the $200,000 Goulet demands, and $300,000 for me. I know he’ll take it at that, but the only reason I’m going to offer it to him is to keep the match in this country. Because I’ve got a better offer from outside.”

“Where at?” says Guthrie.

“Havana, Cuba,” says Larry. “It’s two bankers from there that’s in the next room.”

“I’d like to meet them,” says Guthrie.

“I guess it’d be all right,” says Larry, and he touched the button. “One of them can talk pretty fair English. He’s the one I been dealing with. But the other one, I think, is the real money guy, though as far as understanding him is concerned, he might as well be a deaf mute. Show them two gentlemen in here,” he says to the butler.

Well, they come in, dressed for a wedding.

“Hello there, gentlemen,” says Larry, shaking hands with them. “I must apologize for keeping you waiting. I was busy with these two gentlemen here. Mr. Crawley and Mr. Guthrie, meet Senior Lopez and Senior Pancho, from Havana.”

Senior Lopez pulled an envelope out of his pocket and waved it.

“I’ve had this tended to,” he says, “and I guess you’ll find it all right.”

He handed the envelope to Moon and Moon opened it up. For all as I could see, it was a regular certified check.

“It looks all right,” said Larry, and waved it towards Guthrie and Crawley. “Six hundred thousand fish,” he says, “and I wished it was all mine. But I don’t even know yet whether I’m going to let these gentlemen put it up or not. If the seniors will pardon me, I’ve got a little telephoning to do, and then you can have my answer, just as I promised. If I decide on Havana we’ll take the check downtown and leave it with one of the newspapers over night, and deposit it tomorrow.”

“That satisfies us,” says Senior Lopez, and Senior Pancho mumbled something that was probably Spanish for Swiss on rye.

“Now,” says Larry to Crawley, “I know you and Mr. Guthrie will excuse me for hurrying you off. I wished we could of done business, but as long as we can’t I’ve got to close with somebody else.”

“Would you mind waiting a minute?” says Crawley. “Before you do anything, I’d like to have a word or two with Mr. Guthrie and talk to you a moment in private.”

“Well,” says Moon, “I’ve already kept the seniors waiting quite a w’ile.”

“That’s all right,” says Lopez. “We don’t mind a little wait as long as you ain’t going to disappoint us.”

“Then I’ll take you in the other room,” says Larry, and we left Crawley and Guthrie alone. In a few minutes they called Larry back.

“Now listen,” said Guthrie: “You said something about cutting your price from $600,000 to $500,000 to keep the fight in America. You ain’t doing that out of patriotism!”

“You bet I ain’t!” says Moon. “If I do it, it’ll be for two good reasons. One is that all I’ll get anyway is my $300,000; the Cubans is so fair-minded that they want to see Goulet get just as much as me. The other reason is that Dugan’s scared to death of fever and he thinks Cuba’s full of it. He won’t go there unless he has to.”

“Listen,” says Guthrie; “Mr. Crawley and I have decided to make you a flat offer of $500,000 for this match. If you and La Chance are satisfied with this we’ll put up a forfeit of $100,000 tomorrow.”

Moon waited a w’ile before he spoke.

“Would you guarantee to hold the match in America?” he says.

“Either here or in London,” says Crawley.

“They’s no fever in London?” says Moon.

“I should say not!” says Crawley.

“Well,” says Moon, “if I can hold the Cubans off one more day I’ll consider it. I could meet you tomorrow and you could deposit your check.”

“That suits us,” says Crawley, and they shook hands and left.

Larry joined us in the other room and ordered drinks all round.

“You boys done fine!” he says to the two seniors. “Here’s the rest of your hundred apiece and I’m much obliged.”

“Will we send you these clothes?” says Senior Lopez.

“No,” says Larry. “You keep them for the next big fight.”

“And how about your check?” says Lopez.

“Try and cash it!” says Larry.

“That’s over,” he says, when they’d went. “The next thing is to land Charley Riggs.”

“What for?” says I.

“Why, to promote this match,” said Larry. “He’s the guy I’ve been after all the time, the only guy that’s big enough to put it over. But I didn’t dast go after him without something to show. When he sees that these birds is willing to put up half a million fish he’ll know it’s big enough for him.”

“But how are you going to shake them out?” I asked.

“I don’t care if they’re shook out or not, as long as he’s in,” says Moon. “But you can bet they’ll be glad enough to take him in as partner, and that’s all I want. When I get him we’re set!”

Well, as you know, he got him, and it wasn’t no job to shake the other two out. When they talked five hundred thousand, they was over their heads. And when they begin thinking about expenses, and the conversation got up round a million, they was sunk.

VI

It was early spring when I run acrost Larry again.

“I been wanting to see you,” he says. “What are you going to be doing in June?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Just loafing, I guess.”

“Well,” he said, “would you mind doing your loafing at our camp?”

“What camp?” I asked him.

“Wherever we train,” he says. “Somewheres near New York, I suppose.”

“Where are you going to fight?” I asked.

“In Jersey,” he says. “They’s nowheres else we can. We got to be near the Big Town to get the money.”

“How about all them offers?” I says.

“Oh, you mean the ones that’s been in the papers?” said Moon. “Wasn’t those a hit? A million dollars from Nugget, Nevada! Why, if a guy showed a nickel in that town, the whole twelve that lives there would blackjack him at once!”

“What do you want of me?” I said.

“Jim needs sparring partners,” says Larry.

“I may look goofy to you,” I said, “but I pass for all right round home.”

“I was kidding,” said Larry. “What Jim wants is somebody he can talk to and play rummy with. It’s going to be a lonesome time for him and I don’t know if he can stand it or not. But he likes you and having you there once in a w’ile would be a help.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll keep him company part of the time.”

“You know,” says Larry, “even the wise birds thinks this is easy money for Jim. But it’s going to be about the toughest money anybody ever earned.”

“What do you mean?” I says. “You don’t think the Frenchman has a chance!”

“Don’t be silly!” says Larry. “That’s just the point. If it was like the Wheeler thing, where the guy was a big hulk that it might take some trouble to topple him over, why training for it wouldn’t be such a grind. Jim would say to himself, ‘Well, I guess I can lick him all right, but he’s big and I better be in good shape. Because he might ⸻’ You know how it was that time. But this is different. Here’s a guy that may be the greatest man in the world for his size. But look at his size and yet Jim’s got to go ahead and work like he done for Wheeler. Even harder, because they’s a lot more interest in this and people’ll be watching us close. Jim could get ready in a week to knock this bird cold. But he’s got to go through with five or six weeks of the toughest kind of work, which he knows ain’t necessary. I’ve tried to convince him that they might be an upset. But he knows it’s the bunk.”

“Well,” I said, “if I haven’t nothing better to do I’ll come round and try and keep him entertained. But personally, I don’t know no work I wouldn’t be glad to stick at for five weeks, not at them kind of wages.”

VII

I landed in Jim’s camp the second week in June. The day I got there he boxed with three of his partners. Two of them was big boys and he flattened them both.

We was all alone that evening and he opened up his heart.

“Goulet’s got the right idear,” he says: “Secret training. I wished we could pull that. My training would be such a secret that I wouldn’t even find out about it myself. But Larry says no. I’ve got to show the boys I’m working so they won’t think it’s a farce. Like it wasn’t a farce already! Anyway it is for me⁠—punching the bag and shadow boxing and skipping the rope. You ain’t got no idear how cute I feel skipping a rope! I suppose I ought to thank God they don’t make me roll a hoop or dress dolls. But even skipping a rope ain’t as bad as boxing with those heels! If I try not to hit them, the crowd thinks I ain’t giving them a run for their money. And if I get my glove close enough to their beezer so they can smell it, over they go! Then the crowd thinks I’m too rough!”

“Well,” I said, “they’s only three more weeks of it. And think of the dough and the glory!”

“The dough part’s all right,” he says. “Whatever’s left of it I can use. But glory! That’s a laugh. You don’t kid me with that line of talk. I’ve got the low-down on the whole works. Here I am, an American that’s supposed to be fighting to keep the title in this country, and I doubt if they’s a dozen Americans that ain’t pulling for me to get knocked for a corpse. Sometimes I almost feel like I ought to let myself get licked. It would be doing everybody such a big favor and make them all happy. But how could I go about it? If the guy was big and had a real haymaker I could take one and flop. But I can’t play dead from a kiss.”

“You’ll be surprised,” I said, “if he nails you in the chin and drops you.”

“Surprised ain’t the word!” said Dugan. “I mean, if he drops me. I expect to get hit; on the chin too. Because I ain’t no defensive fighter. I go in there to get my man and in order to get him I’m willing to take what he’s got. And listen: I’ve been hit on the chin before, and not by children, neither. But I hardly ever lay down unless it’s bedtime.”

I asked him how long he expected the fight to go.

“Don’t call it a fight,” he says, “not when you and I are alone. Whatever it is will go a round or two rounds or three rounds, depending on how he behaves himself. If he wants to tear in and get it over quick, I’m willing. But no matter how long it goes⁠—whether he lays himself wide open so as I can knock him in a round, or whether he keeps away for four or five⁠—you can mark my words that they won’t be no glory for me in winning. He’s a great fighter now! A cave man! But after I’ve knocked him he’ll be a bum. Because anybody I can lick can’t be no good.”

“You’re brooding too much,” I said.

“Let’s play cards and forget it,” he says. “Though it does me good to talk once in a w’ile. When I don’t talk I worry.”

“What about?” I asked him.

“Oh, the ‘big fight,’ ” he says.

“But what’s they about that to worry you?” I asked.

“Well, for one thing,” he said, “I’m scared they won’t put enough padding in the floor. I’ve read of cases where a guy got knocked and hit his bean on the floor and passed out entirely. And the guy that knocked him was held for murder. And another thing: I’m scared it may not come off after all. He may get sick.”

“What would make him sick?” I says.

“Well,” said Dugan, “he may read what the girl reporters has been writing about him.”

VIII

You know what Barnum said. Well, he didn’t go far enough. They like to be bunked, but what they like most of all is to bunk themselves.

Set round some night amongst the boys when they’re easing their way through a bottle of near Johnny Walker at eighteen fish the copy. Pretty soon you’ll hear this:

“Well, fellas, in another year we’ll be leaning up against the old mahogany again, tipping over regular highballs or real beer.”

And this:

“If they’d ever leave prohibition to a vote of the people! But they don’t dast!”

Well, I was in New York for three days prior to the “big fight,” and four or five days afterwards, and anybody that was there had to take a course in human nature. I didn’t learn much that I hadn’t suspected before, but whatever doubts I may of had was removed once and for all.

The plain facts was this: A good big man was going to fight a little man that nobody knew if he was good or not, and the good big man was bound to win and win easy unless he had a sunstroke.

But the little man was a war hero, which the big man certainly wasn’t. And the little man was romantic, besides being one of the most likable guys you’d want to meet⁠—even if he did have a Greek profile and long eyelashes.

So they was only one logical answer, namely that Goulet, the little man, would just about kill Dugan, the big man, maybe by a sudden display of superhuman stren’th which he had been holding back all his life for this one fight, but more likely by some mysterious trick which no other fighter had ever thought of before, because in order to think of it you had to have a French brain and long eyelashes. If Goulet wasn’t going to win, what did him and his manager mean by smiling so much and looking so happy? Of course the two hundred thousand fish had nothing to do with it.

They’s two reasons why I didn’t talk back to them. One was that I haven’t no breath to waste, and the other was that I don’t like to make enemies, which you’re bound to do that whenever you tell somebody something they don’t want to believe. A lot of the fight reporters found this out. Contrary to the general belief, they’s a good many American fight writers that knows more about fights and fighters than even Bernard Shaw. Pretty near all of them come right out in print and said Goulet didn’t have a chance. In return for which they got a hat full of letters calling them every name that could get through the mails.

You seen the fight yourself. Personally, I haven’t made up my mind whether Dugan done it as quick as he could, or whether he held back a w’ile to make it look like the guy was something more than a pushover. I ain’t seen Jim to ask him. And I only seen Moon once, and then all he said was “Didn’t I tell you!”

“Tell me what?” I said.

“That I was doing Charley Riggs a favor, coaxing him into this,” says Larry.

Well, I guess he was. With all the trimming Charley took from one guy and another, he must of came out with a profit for himself and his backer of something like half a million. And not only that, but the way he handled it put him in a class by himself as a promoter. The big fights to come will be staged by Charley or they won’t be big fights.

That’s all, except a little incidence of a man that set beside me coming back in the tube.

“A great fight!” he says.

“Yes, it was,” said I.

“The Frenchman showed up pretty good,” he says, “though I had a kind of an idear that he’d win. I see now where I was foolish.”

“How’s that?” I asked him.

“Well,” he said, “the way I’ve got it figured out, he wasn’t big enough.”

“By gosh!” I said. “I believe you’ve hit the nail right on the head!”