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diff --git a/old/55948-8.txt b/old/55948-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fc38d37..0000000 --- a/old/55948-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3129 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Abysmal Brute, by Jack London - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Abysmal Brute - -Author: Jack London - -Illustrator: Gordon Grant - -Release Date: November 12, 2017 [EBook #55948] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ABYSMAL BRUTE *** - - - - -Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project -Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously -made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - THE - ABYSMAL BRUTE - - BY - JACK LONDON - Author of "The Call of the Wild," - "The Sea Wolf," "Smoke Bellew," - "The Night Born," etc. - - - NEW YORK - THE CENTURY CO. - 1913 - - - - - - - - - -THE ABYSMAL BRUTE - -I - - -Sam Stubener ran through his mail carelessly and rapidly. As became a -manager of prize-fighters, he was accustomed to a various and bizarre -correspondence. Every crank, sport, near sport, and reformer seemed -to have ideas to impart to him. From dire threats against his life -to milder threats, such as pushing in the front of his face, from -rabbit-foot fetishes to lucky horse-shoes, from dinky jerkwater bids -to the quarter-of-a-million-dollar offers of irresponsible nobodies, -he knew the whole run of the surprise portion of his mail. In his time -having received a razor-strop made from the skin of a lynched negro, -and a finger, withered and sun-dried, cut from the body of a white -man found in Death Valley, he was of the opinion that never again -would the postman bring him anything that could startle him. But this -morning he opened a letter that he read a second time, put away in -his pocket, and took out for a third reading. It was postmarked from -some unheard-of post-office in Siskiyou County, and it ran: - - - Dear Sam: - - You don't know me, except my reputation. You come after my time, - and I've been out of the game a long time. But take it from - me I ain't been asleep. I've followed the whole game, and I've - followed you, from the time Kal Aufman knocked you out to your - last handling of Nat Belson, and I take it you're the niftiest - thing in the line of managers that ever came down the pike. - - I got a proposition for you. I got the greatest unknown that ever - happened. This ain't con. It's the straight goods. What do you - think of a husky that tips the scales at two hundred and twenty - pounds fighting weight, is twenty-two years old, and can hit a - kick twice as hard as my best ever? That's him, my boy, Young - Pat Glendon, that's the name he'll fight under. I've planned it - all out. Now the best thing you can do is hit the first train - and come up here. - - I bred him and I trained him. All that I ever had in my head I've - hammered into his. And maybe you won't believe it, but he's added - to it. He's a born fighter. He's a wonder at time and distance. He - just knows to the second and the inch, and he don't have to think - about it at all. His six-inch jolt is more the real sleep medicine - than the full-arm swing of most geezers. - - Talk about the hope of the white race. This is him. Come and - take a peep. When you was managing Jeffries you was crazy about - hunting. Come along and I'll give you some real hunting and - fishing that will make your moving picture winnings look like - thirty cents. I'll send Young Pat out with you. I ain't able to - get around. That's why I'm sending for you. I was going to manage - him myself. But it ain't no use. I'm all in and likely to pass out - any time. So get a move on. I want you to manage him. There's a - fortune in it for both of you, but I want to draw up the contract. - - - Yours truly, - - PAT GLENDON. - - -Stubener was puzzled. It seemed, on the face of it, a joke--the men -in the fighting game were notorious jokers--and he tried to discern -the fine hand of Corbett or the big friendly paw of Fitzsimmons in -the screed before him. But if it were genuine, he knew it was worth -looking into. Pat Glendon was before his time, though, as a cub, he -had once seen Old Pat spar at the benefit for Jack Dempsey. Even then -he was called "Old" Pat, and had been out of the ring for years. He -had antedated Sullivan, in the old London Prize Ring Rules, though -his last fading battles had been put up under the incoming Marquis -of Queensbury Rules. - -What ring-follower did not know of Pat Glendon?--though few were -alive who had seen him in his prime, and there were not many more -who had seen him at all. Yet his name had come down in the history -of the ring, and no sporting writer's lexicon was complete without -it. His fame was paradoxical. No man was honored higher, and yet -he had never attained championship honors. He had been unfortunate, -and had been known as the unlucky fighter. - -Four times he all but won the heavyweight championship, and each -time he had deserved to win it. There was the time on the barge, in -San Francisco Bay, when, at the moment he had the champion going, -he snapped his own forearm; and on the island in the Thames, -sloshing about in six inches of rising tide, he broke a leg at -a similar stage in a winning fight; in Texas, too, there was the -never-to-be-forgotten day when the police broke in just as he had -his man going in all certainty. And finally, there was the fight in -the Mechanics' Pavilion in San Francisco, when he was secretly jobbed -from the first by a gun-fighting bad man of a referee backed by a small -syndicate of bettors. Pat Glendon had had no accidents in that fight, -but when he had knocked his man cold with a right to the jaw and a -left to the solar plexus, the referee calmly disqualified him for -fouling. Every ringside witness, every sporting expert, and the whole -sporting world, knew there had been no foul. Yet, like all fighters, -Pat Glendon had agreed to abide by the decision of the referee. Pat -abided, and accepted it as in keeping with the rest of his bad luck. - -This was Pat Glendon. What bothered Stubener was whether or not Pat -had written the letter. He carried it down town with him. What's -become of Pat Glendon? Such was his greeting to all sports that -morning. Nobody seemed to know. Some thought he must be dead, but none -knew positively. The fight editor of a morning daily looked up the -records and was able to state that his death had not been noted. It -was from Tim Donovan, that he got a clue. - -"Sure an' he ain't dead," said Donovan. "How could that be?--a man of -his make that never boozed or blew himself? He made money, and what's -more, he saved it and invested it. Didn't he have three saloons at the -one time? An' wasn't he makin' slathers of money with them when he -sold out? Now that I'm thinkin', that was the last time I laid eyes -on him--when he sold them out. 'Twas all of twenty years and more -ago. His wife had just died. I met him headin' for the Ferry. 'Where -away, old sport?' says I. 'It's me for the woods,' says he. 'I've -quit. Good-by, Tim, me boy.' And I've never seen him from that day -to this. Of course he ain't dead." - -"You say when his wife died--did he have any children?" Stubener -queried. - -"One, a little baby. He was luggin' it in his arms that very day." - -"Was it a boy?" - -"How should I be knowin'?" - -It was then that Sam Stubener reached a decision, and that night found -him in a Pullman speeding toward the wilds of Northern California. - - - - - - - - - -II - - -Stubener was dropped off the overland at Deer Lick in the early -morning, and he kicked his heels for an hour before the one saloon -opened its doors. No, the saloonkeeper didn't know anything about Pat -Glendon, had never heard of him, and if he was in that part of the -country he must be out beyond somewhere. Neither had the one hanger-on -ever heard of Pat Glendon. At the hotel the same ignorance obtained, -and it was not until the storekeeper and postmaster opened up that -Stubener struck the trail. Oh, yes, Pat Glendon lived out beyond. You -took the stage at Alpine, which was forty miles and which was a -logging camp. From Alpine, on horseback, you rode up Antelope Valley -and crossed the divide to Bear Creek. Pat Glendon lived somewhere -beyond that. The people of Alpine would know. Yes, there was a young -Pat. The storekeeper had seen him. He had been in to Deer Lick two -years back. Old Pat had not put in an appearance for five years. He -bought his supplies at the store, and always paid by check, and he was -a white-haired, strange old man. That was all the storekeeper knew, -but the folks at Alpine could give him final directions. - -It looked good to Stubener. Beyond doubt there was a young Pat Glendon, -as well as an old one, living out beyond. That night the manager spent -at the logging camp of Alpine, and early the following morning he rode -a mountain cayuse up Antelope Valley. He rode over the divide and down -Bear Creek. He rode all day, through the wildest, roughest country -he had ever seen, and at sunset turned up Pinto Valley on a trail so -stiff and narrow that more than once he elected to get off and walk. - -It was eleven o'clock when he dismounted before a log cabin and was -greeted by the baying of two huge deer-hounds. Then Pat Glendon opened -the door, fell on his neck, and took him in. - -"I knew ye'd come, Sam, me boy," said Pat, the while he limped about, -building a fire, boiling coffee, and frying a big bear-steak. "The -young un ain't home the night. We was gettin' short of meat, and he -went out about sundown to pick up a deer. But I'll say no more. Wait -till ye see him. He'll be home in the morn, and then you can try him -out. There's the gloves. But wait till ye see him. - -"As for me, I'm finished. Eighty-one come next January, an' pretty good -for an ex-bruiser. But I never wasted meself, Sam, nor kept late hours -an' burned the candle at all ends. I had a damned good candle, an' made -the most of it, as you'll grant at lookin' at me. And I've taught the -same to the young un. What do you think of a lad of twenty-two that's -never had a drink in his life nor tasted tobacco? That's him. He's -a giant, and he's lived natural all his days. Wait till he takes you -out after deer. He'll break your heart travelin' light, him a carryin' -the outfit and a big buck deer belike. He's a child of the open air, -an' winter nor summer has he slept under a roof. The open for him, -as I taught him. The one thing that worries me is how he'll take -to sleepin' in houses, an' how he'll stand the tobacco smoke in the -ring. 'Tis a terrible thing, that smoke, when you're fighting hard an' -gaspin' for air. But no more, Sam, me boy. You're tired an' sure should -be sleepin'. Wait till you see him, that's all. Wait till you see him." - -But the garrulousness of age was on old Pat, and it was long before -he permitted Stubener's eyes to close. - -"He can run a deer down with his own legs, that young un," he broke out -again. "'Tis the dandy trainin' for the lungs, the hunter's life. He -don't know much of else, though, he's read a few books at times an' -poetry stuff. He's just plain pure natural, as you'll see when you -clap eyes on him. He's got the old Irish strong in him. Sometimes, the -way he moons about, it's thinkin' strong I am that he believes in the -fairies and such-like. He's a nature lover if ever there was one, an' -he's afeard of cities. He's read about them, but the biggest he was -ever in was Deer Lick. He misliked the many people, and his report -was that they'd stand weedin' out. That was two years agone--the -first and the last time he's seen a locomotive and a train of cars. - -"Sometimes it's wrong I'm thinkin' I am, bringin' him up a -natural. It's given him wind and stamina and the strength o' wild -bulls. No city-grown man can have a look-in against him. I'm willin' to -grant that Jeffries at his best could 'a' worried the young un a bit, -but only a bit. The young un could 'a' broke him like a straw. An' -he don't look it. That's the everlasting wonder of it. He's only a -fine-seeming young husky; but it's the quality of his muscle that's -different. But wait till ye see him, that's all. - -"A strange liking the boy has for posies, an' little meadows, a bit of -pine with the moon beyond, windy sunsets, or the sun o' morns from the -top of old Baldy. An' he has a hankerin' for the drawin' o' pitchers -of things, an' of spouting about 'Lucifer or night' from the poetry -books he got from the red-headed school teacher. But 'tis only his -youngness. He'll settle down to the game once we get him started, but -watch out for grouches when it first comes to livin' in a city for him. - -"A good thing; he's woman-shy. They'll not bother him for years. He -can't bring himself to understand the creatures, an' damn few of -them has he seen at that. 'Twas the school teacher over at Samson's -Flat that put the poetry stuff in his head. She was clean daffy -over the young un, an' he never a-knowin'. A warm-haired girl she -was--not a mountain girl, but from down in the flat-lands--an' as -time went by she was fair desperate, an' the way she went after him -was shameless. An' what d'ye think the boy did when he tumbled to -it? He was scared as a jackrabbit. He took blankets an' ammunition -an' hiked for tall timber. Not for a month did I lay eyes on him, an' -then he sneaked in after dark and was gone in the morn. Nor would he -as much as peep at her letters. 'Burn 'em,' he said. An' burn 'em I -did. Twice she rode over on a cayuse all the way from Samson's Flat, -an' I was sorry for the young creature. She was fair hungry for the -boy, and she looked it in her face. An' at the end of three months -she gave up school an' went back to her own country, an' then it was -that the boy came home to the shack to live again. - -"Women ha' ben the ruination of many a good fighter, but they won't -be of him. He blushes like a girl if anything young in skirts looks -at him a second time or too long the first one. An' they all look at -him. But when he fights, when he fights!--God! it's the old savage -Irish that flares in him, an' drives the fists of him. Not that he -goes off his base. Don't walk away with that. At my best I was never -as cool as he. I misdoubt 'twas the wrath of me that brought the -accidents. But he's an iceberg. He's hot an' cold at the one time, -a live wire in an ice-chest." - -Stubener was dozing, when the old man's mumble aroused him. He -listened drowsily. - -"I made a man o' him, by God! I made a man o' him, with the two fists -of him, an' the upstanding legs of him, an' the straight-seein' -eyes. And I know the game in my head, an' I've kept up with the -times and the modern changes. The crouch? Sure, he knows all the -styles an' economies. He never moves two inches when an inch and a -half will do the turn. And when he wants he can spring like a buck -kangaroo. In-fightin'? Wait till you see. Better than his out-fightin', -and he could sure 'a' sparred with Peter Jackson an' outfooted Corbett -in his best. I tell you, I've taught'm it all, to the last trick, and -he's improved on the teachin'. He's a fair genius at the game. An' -he's had plenty of husky mountain men to try out on. I gave him the -fancy work and they gave him the sloggin'. Nothing shy or delicate -about them. Roarin' bulls an' big grizzly bears, that's what they are, -when it comes to huggin' in a clinch or swingin' rough-like in the -rushes. An' he plays with 'em. Man, d'ye hear me?--he plays with them, -like you an' me would play with little puppy-dogs." - -Another time Stubener awoke, to hear the old man mumbling: - -"'Tis the funny think he don't take fightin' seriously. It's that -easy to him he thinks it play. But wait till he's tapped a swift -one. That's all, wait. An' you'll see'm throw on the juice in that -cold storage plant of his an' turn loose the prettiest scientific -wallopin' that ever you laid eyes on." - -In the shivery gray of mountain dawn, Stubener was routed from his -blankets by old Pat. - -"He's comin' up the trail now," was the hoarse whisper. "Out with -ye an' take your first peep at the biggest fightin' man the ring has -ever seen, or will ever see in a thousand years again." - -The manager peered through the open door, rubbing the sleep from his -heavy eyes, and saw a young giant walk into the clearing. In one hand -was a rifle, across his shoulders a heavy deer under which he moved -as if it were weightless. He was dressed roughly in blue overalls -and woolen shirt open at the throat. Coat he had none, and on his -feet, instead of brogans, were moccasins. Stubener noted that his -walk was smooth and catlike, without suggestion of his two hundred -and twenty pounds of weight to which that of the deer was added. The -fight manager was impressed from the first glimpse. Formidable the -young fellow certainly was, but the manager sensed the strangeness -and unusualness of him. He was a new type, something different -from the run of fighters. He seemed a creature of the wild, more a -night-roaming figure from some old fairy story or folk tale than a -twentieth-century youth. - -A thing Stubener quickly discovered was that young Pat was not much -of a talker. He acknowledged old Pat's introduction with a grip of -the hand but without speech, and silently set to work at building -the fire and getting breakfast. To his father's direct questions he -answered in monosyllables, as, for instance, when asked where he had -picked up the deer. - -"South Fork," was all he vouchsafed. - -"Eleven miles across the mountains," the old man exposited pridefully -to Stubener, "an' a trail that'd break your heart." - -Breakfast consisted of black coffee, sourdough bread, and an immense -quantity of bear-meat broiled over the coals. Of this the young -fellow ate ravenously, and Stubener divined that both the Glendons -were accustomed to an almost straight meat diet. Old Pat did all the -talking, though it was not till the meal was ended that he broached -the subject he had at heart. - -"Pat, boy," he began, "you know who the gentleman is?" - -Young Pat nodded, and cast a quick, comprehensive glance at the -manager. - -"Well, he'll be takin' you away with him and down to San Francisco." - -"I'd sooner stay here, dad," was the answer. - -Stubener felt a prick of disappointment. It was a wild goose chase -after all. This was no fighter, eager and fretting to be at it. His -huge brawn counted for nothing. It was nothing new. It was the big -fellows that usually had the streak of fat. - -But old Pat's Celtic wrath flared up, and his voice was harsh with -command. - -"You'll go down to the cities an' fight, me boy. That's what I've -trained you for, an' you'll do it." - -"All right," was the unexpected response, rumbled apathetically from -the deep chest. - -"And fight like hell," the old man added. - -Again Stubener felt disappointment at the absence of flash and fire -in the young man's eyes as he answered: - -"All right. When do we start?" - -"Oh, Sam, here, he'll be wantin' a little huntin' and to fish a bit, -as well as to try you out with the gloves." He looked at Sam, who -nodded. "Suppose you strip and give'm a taste of your quality." - -An hour later, Sam Stubener had his eyes opened. An ex-fighter himself, -a heavyweight at that, he was even a better judge of fighters, and -never had he seen one strip to like advantage. - -"See the softness of him," old Pat chanted. "'Tis the true stuff. Look -at the slope of the shoulders, an' the lungs of him. Clean, all clean, -to the last drop an' ounce of him. You're lookin' at a man, Sam, the -like of which was never seen before. Not a muscle of him bound. No -weight-lifter or Sandow exercise artist there. See the fat snakes -of muscles a-crawlin' soft an' lazy-like. Wait till you see them -flashin' like a strikin' rattler. He's good for forty rounds this -blessed instant, or a hundred. Go to it! Time!" - -They went to it, for three-minute rounds with a minute rests, and -Sam Stubener was immediately undeceived. Here was no streak of fat, -no apathy, only a lazy, good-natured play of gloves and tricks, with -a brusk stiffness and harsh sharpness in the contacts that he knew -belonged only to the trained and instinctive fighting man. - -"Easy, now, easy," old Pat warned. "Sam's not the man he used to be." - -This nettled Sam, as it was intended to do, and he played his most -famous trick and favorite punch--a feint for a clinch and a right -rip to the stomach. But, quickly as it was delivered, young Pat saw -it, and, though it landed, his body was going away. The next time, -his body did not go away. As the rip started, he moved forward and -twisted his left hip to meet it. It was only a matter of several -inches, yet it blocked the blow. And thereafter, try as he would, -Stubener's glove got no farther than that hip. - -Stubener had roughed it with big men in his time, and, in exhibition -bouts, had creditably held his own. But there was no holding his own -here. Young Pat played with him, and in the clinches made him feel -as powerful as a baby, landing on him seemingly at will, locking -and blocking with masterful accuracy, and scarcely noticing or -acknowledging his existence. Half the time young Pat seemed to spend -in gazing off and out at the landscape in a dreamy sort of way. And -right here Stubener made another mistake. He took it for a trick of -old Pat's training, tried to sneak in a short-arm jolt, found his -arm in a lightning lock, and had both his ears cuffed for his pains. - -"The instinct for a blow," the old man chortled. "'Tis not put on, -I'm tellin' you. He is a wiz. He knows a blow without the lookin', -when it starts an' where, the speed, an' space, an' niceness of it. An' -'tis nothing I ever showed him. 'Tis inspiration. He was so born." - -Once, in a clinch, the fight manager heeled his glove on young Pat's -mouth, and there was just a hint of viciousness in the manner of doing -it. A moment later, in the next clinch, Sam received the heel of the -other's glove on his own mouth. There was nothing snappy about it, -but the pressure, stolidly lazy as it was, put his head back till the -joints cracked and for the moment he thought his neck was broken. He -slacked his body and dropped his arms in token that the bout was over, -felt the instant release, and staggered clear. - -"He'll--he'll do," he gasped, looking the admiration he lacked the -breath to utter. - -Old Pat's eyes were brightly moist with pride and triumph. - -"An' what will you be thinkin' to happen when some of the gay an' -ugly ones tries to rough it on him?" he asked. - -"He'll kill them, sure," was Stubener's verdict. - -"No; he's too cool for that. But he'll just hurt them some for their -dirtiness." - -"Let's draw up the contract," said the manager. - -"Wait till you know the whole worth of him!" Old Pat answered. "'Tis -strong terms I'll be makin' you come to. Go for a deer-hunt with -the boy over the hills an' learn the lungs and the legs of him. Then -we'll sign up iron-clad and regular." - -Stubener was gone two days on that hunt, and he learned all and -more than old Pat had promised, and came back a very weary and -very humble man. The young fellow's innocence of the world had -been startling to the case-hardened manager, but he had found him -nobody's fool. Virgin though his mind was, untouched by all save a -narrow mountain experience, nevertheless he had proved possession -of a natural keenness and shrewdness far beyond the average. In a -way he was a mystery to Sam, who could not understand his terrible -equanimity of temper. Nothing ruffled him or worried him, and his -patience was of an enduring primitiveness. He never swore, not even -the futile and emasculated cuss-words of sissy-boys. - -"I'd swear all right if I wanted to," he had explained, when challenged -by his companion. "But I guess I've never come to needing it. When -I do, I'll swear, I suppose." - -Old Pat, resolutely adhering to his decision, said good-by at the -cabin. - -"It won't be long, Pat, boy, when I'll be readin' about you in the -papers. I'd like to go along, but I'm afeard it's me for the mountains -till the end." - -And then, drawing the manager aside, the old man turned loose on him -almost savagely. - -"Remember what I've ben tellin' ye over an' over. The boy's clean an' -he's honest. He knows nothing of the rottenness of the game. I kept it -all away from him, I tell you. He don't know the meanin' of fake. He -knows only the bravery, an' romance an' glory of fightin', and I've -filled him up with tales of the old ring heroes, though little enough, -God knows, it's set him afire. Man, man, I'm tellin' you that I clipped -the fight columns from the newspapers to keep it 'way from him--him -a-thinkin' I was wantin' them for me scrap book. He don't know a man -ever lay down or threw a fight. So don't you get him in anything that -ain't straight. Don't turn the boy's stomach. That's why I put in the -null and void clause. The first rottenness and the contract's broke of -itself. No snide division of stake-money; no secret arrangements with -the movin' pitcher men for guaranteed distance. There's slathers o' -money for the both of you. But play it square or you lose. Understand? - -"And whatever you'll be doin' watch out for the women," was old Pat's -parting admonishment, young Pat astride his horse and reining in -dutifully to hear. "Women is death an' damnation, remember that. But -when you do find the one, the only one, hang on to her. She'll be -worth more than glory an' money. But first be sure, an' when you're -sure, don't let her slip through your fingers. Grab her with the two -hands of you and hang on. Hang on if all the world goes to smash an' -smithereens. Pat, boy, a good woman is ... a good woman. 'Tis the -first word and the last." - - - - - - - - - -III - - -Once in San Francisco, Sam Stubener's troubles began. Not that young -Pat had a nasty temper, or was grouchy as his father had feared. On -the contrary, he was phenomenally sweet and mild. But he was homesick -for his beloved mountains. Also, he was secretly appalled by the city, -though he trod its roaring streets imperturbable as a red Indian. - -"I came down here to fight," he announced, at the end of the first -week. - -"Where's Jim Hanford?" - -Stubener whistled. - -"A big champion like him wouldn't look at you," was his answer. "'Go -and get a reputation,' is what he'd say." - -"I can lick him." - -"But the public doesn't know that. If you licked him you'd be champion -of the world, and no champion ever became so with his first fight." - -"I can." - -"But the public doesn't know it, Pat. It wouldn't come to see -you fight. And it's the crowd that brings the money and the -big purses. That's why Jim Hanford wouldn't consider you for a -second. There'd be nothing in it for him. Besides, he's getting -three thousand a week right now in vaudeville, with a contract for -twenty-five weeks. Do you think he'd chuck that for a go with a -man no one ever heard of? You've got to do something first, make a -record. You've got to begin on the little local dubs that nobody ever -heard of--guys like Chub Collins, Rough-House Kelly, and the Flying -Dutchman. When you've put them away, you're only started on the first -round of the ladder. But after that you'll go up like a balloon." - -"I'll meet those three named in the same ring one after the other," -was Pat's decision. "Make the arrangements accordingly." - -Stubener laughed. - -"What's wrong? Don't you think I can put them away?" - -"I know you can," Stubener assured him. "But it can't be arranged that -way. You've got to take them one at a time. Besides, remember, I know -the game and I'm managing you. This proposition has to be worked up, -and I'm the boy that knows how. If we're lucky, you may get to the -top in a couple of years and be the champion with a mint of money." - -Pat sighed at the prospect, then brightened up. - -"And after that I can retire and go back home to the old man," he said. - -Stubener was about to reply, but checked himself. Strange as was -this championship material, he felt confident that when the top was -reached it would prove very similar to that of all the others who -had gone before. Besides, two years was a long way off, and there -was much to be done in the meantime. - -When Pat fell to moping around his quarters, reading endless poetry -books and novels drawn from the public library, Stubener sent him off -to live on a Contra Costa ranch across the Bay, under the watchful eye -of Spider Walsh. At the end of a week Spider whispered that the job -was a cinch. His charge was away and over the hills from dawn till -dark, whipping the streams for trout, shooting quail and rabbits, -and pursuing the one lone and crafty buck famous for having survived -a decade of hunters. It was the Spider who waxed lazy and fat, while -his charge kept himself in condition. - -As Stubener expected, his unknown was laughed at by the fight club -managers. Were not the woods full of unknowns who were always breaking -out with championship rashes? A preliminary, say of four rounds--yes, -they would grant him that. But the main event--never. Stubener was -resolved that young Pat should make his debut in nothing less than a -main event, and, by the prestige of his own name he at last managed -it. With much misgiving, the Mission Club agreed that Pat Glendon -could go fifteen rounds with Rough-House Kelly for a purse of one -hundred dollars. It was the custom of young fighters to assume the -names of old ring heroes, so no one suspected that he was the son of -the great Pat Glendon, while Stubener held his peace. It was a good -press surprise package to spring later. - -Came the night of the fight, after a month of waiting. Stubener's -anxiety was keen. His professional reputation was staked that his man -would make a showing, and he was astounded to see Pat, seated in his -corner a bare five minutes, lose the healthy color from his cheeks, -which turned a sickly yellow. - -"Cheer up, boy," Stubener said, slapping him on the shoulder. "The -first time in the ring is always strange, and Kelly has a way -of letting his opponent wait for him on the chance of getting -stage-fright." - -"It isn't that," Pat answered. "It's the tobacco smoke. I'm not used -to it, and it's making me fair sick." - -His manager experienced the quick shock of relief. A man who turned -sick from mental causes, even if he were a Samson, could never win -to place in the prize ring. As for tobacco smoke, the youngster would -have to get used to it, that was all. - -Young Pat's entrance into the ring had been met with silence, but -when Rough-House Kelly crawled through the ropes his greeting was -uproarious. He did not belie his name. He was a ferocious-looking -man, black and hairy, with huge, knotty muscles, weighing a full two -hundred pounds. Pat looked across at him curiously, and received a -savage scowl. After both had been introduced to the audience, they -shook hands. And even as their gloves gripped, Kelly ground his teeth, -convulsed his face with an expression of rage, and muttered: - -"You've got yer nerve wid yeh." He flung Pat's hand roughly from his, -and hissed, "I'll eat yeh up, ye pup!" - -The audience laughed at the action, and it guessed hilariously at -what Kelly must have said. - -Back in his corner, and waiting the gong, Pat turned to Stubener. - -"Why is he angry with me?" he asked. - -"He ain't," Stubener answered. "That's his way, trying to scare -you. It's just mouth-fighting." - -"It isn't boxing," was Pat's comment; and Stubener, with a quick -glance, noted that his eyes were as mildly blue as ever. - -"Be careful," the manager warned, as the gong for the first round -sounded and Pat stood up. "He's liable to come at you like a -man-eater." - -And like a man-eater Kelly did come at him, rushing across the ring -in wild fury. Pat, who in his easy way had advanced only a couple of -paces, gauged the other's momentum, side-stepped, and brought his -stiff-arched right across to the jaw. Then he stood and looked on -with a great curiosity. The fight was over. Kelly had fallen like -a stricken bullock to the floor, and there he lay without movement -while the referee, bending over him, shouted the ten seconds in -his unheeding ear. When Kelly's seconds came to lift him, Pat was -before them. Gathering the huge, inert bulk of the man in his arms, -he carried him to his corner and deposited him on the stool and in -the arms of his seconds. - -Half a minute later, Kelly's head lifted and his eyes wavered open. He -looked about him stupidly and then to one of his seconds. - -"What happened?" he queried hoarsely. "Did the roof fall on me?" - - - - - - - - - -IV - - -As a result of his fight with Kelly, though the general opinion was -that he had won by a fluke, Pat was matched with Rufe Mason. This took -place three weeks later, and the Sierra Club audience at Dreamland -Rink failed to see what happened. Rufe Mason was a heavyweight, -noted locally for his cleverness. When the gong for the first round -sounded, both men met in the center of the ring. Neither rushed. Nor -did they strike a blow. They felt around each other, their arms bent, -their gloves so close together that they almost touched. This lasted -for perhaps five seconds. Then it happened, and so quickly that -not one in a hundred of the audience saw. Rufe Mason made a feint -with his right. It was obviously not a real feint, but a feeler, -a mere tentative threatening of a possible blow. It was at this -instant that Pat loosed his punch. So close together were they that -the distance the blow traveled was a scant eight inches. It was a -short-arm left jolt, and it was accomplished by a twist of the left -forearm and a thrust of the shoulder. It landed flush on the point -of the chin and the astounded audience saw Rufe Mason's legs crumple -under him as his body sank to the floor. But the referee had seen, -and he promptly proceeded to count him out. Again Pat carried his -opponent to his corner, and it was ten minutes before Rufe Mason, -supported by his seconds, with sagging knees and rolling, glassy eyes, -was able to move down the aisle through the stupefied and incredulous -audience on the way to his dressing room. - -"No wonder," he told a reporter, "that Rough-House Kelly thought the -roof hit him." - -After Chub Collins had been put out in the twelfth second of the -first round of a fifteen-round contest, Stubener felt compelled to -speak to Pat. - -"Do you know what they're calling you now?" he asked. - -Pat shook his head. - -"One Punch Glendon." - -Pat smiled politely. He was little interested in what he was called. He -had certain work cut out which he must do ere he could win back to -his mountains, and he was phlegmatically doing it, that was all. - -"It won't do," his manager continued, with an ominous shake of the -head. "You can't go on putting your men out so quickly. You must give -them more time." - -"I'm here to fight, ain't I?" Pat demanded in surprise. - -Again Stubener shook his head. - -"It's this way, Pat. You've got to be big and generous in the fighting -game. Don't get all the other fighters sore. And it's not fair to -the audience. They want a run for their money. Besides, no one will -fight you. They'll all be scared out. And you can't draw crowds with -ten-second fights. I leave it to you. Would you pay a dollar, or five, -to see a ten-second fight?" - -Pat was convinced, and he promised to give future audiences the -requisite run for their money, though he stated that, personally, -he preferred going fishing to witnessing a hundred rounds of fighting. - -And still, Pat had got practically nowhere in the game. The local -sports laughed when his name was mentioned. It called to mind funny -fights and Rough-House Kelly's remark about the roof. Nobody knew -how Pat could fight. They had never seen him. Where was his wind, -his stamina, his ability to mix it with rough customers through long -grueling contests? He had demonstrated nothing but the possession of -a lucky punch and a depressing proclivity for flukes. - -So it was that his fourth match was arranged with Pete Sosso, -a Portuguese fighter from Butchertown, known only for the amazing -tricks he played in the ring. Pat did not train for the fight. Instead -he made a flying and sorrowful trip to the mountains to bury his -father. Old Pat had known well the condition of his heart, and it -had stopped suddenly on him. - -Young Pat arrived back in San Francisco with so close a margin of time -that he changed into his fighting togs directly from his traveling -suit, and even then the audience was kept waiting ten minutes. - -"Remember, give him a chance," Stubener cautioned him as he climbed -through the ropes. "Play with him, but do it seriously. Let him go -ten or twelve rounds, then get him." - -Pat obeyed instructions, and, though it would have been easy enough -to put Sosso out, so tricky was he that to stand up to him and not -put him out kept his hands full. It was a pretty exhibition, and -the audience was delighted. Sosso's whirlwind attacks, wild feints, -retreats, and rushes, required all Pat's science to protect himself, -and even then he did not escape unscathed. - -Stubener praised him in the minute-rests, and all would have been well, -had not Sosso, in the fourth round, played one of his most spectacular -tricks. Pat, in a mix-up, had landed a hook to Sosso's jaw, when to -his amazement, the latter dropped his hands and reeled backward, eyes -rolling, legs bending and giving, in a high state of grogginess. Pat -could not understand. It had not been a knock-out blow, and yet there -was his man all ready to fall to the mat. Pat dropped his own hands and -wonderingly watched his reeling opponent. Sosso staggered away, almost -fell, recovered, and staggered obliquely and blindly forward again. - -For the first and the last time in his fighting career, Pat was caught -off his guard. He actually stepped aside to let the reeling man go -by. Still reeling, Sosso suddenly loosed his right. Pat received it -full on his jaw with an impact that rattled all his teeth. A great -roar of delight went up from the audience. But Pat did not hear. He -saw only Sosso before him, grinning and defiant, and not the least -bit groggy. Pat was hurt by the blow, but vastly more outraged by the -trick. All the wrath that his father ever had surged up in him. He -shook his head as if to get rid of the shock of the blow and steadied -himself before his man. It all occurred in the next second. With -a feint that drew his opponent, Pat fetched his left to the solar -plexus, almost at the same instant whipping his right across to the -jaw. The latter blow landed on Sosso's mouth ere his falling body -struck the floor. The club doctors worked half an hour to bring him -to. After that they put eleven stitches in his mouth and packed him -off in an ambulance. - -"I'm sorry," Pat told his manager, "I'm afraid I lost my temper. I'll -never do it again in the ring. Dad always cautioned me about it. He -said it had made him lose more than one battle. I didn't know I could -lose my temper that way, but now that I know I'll keep it in control." - -And Stubener believed him. He was coming to the stage where he could -believe anything about his young charge. - -"You don't need to get angry," he said, "you're so thoroughly the -master of your man at any stage." - -"At any inch or second of the fight," Pat affirmed. - -"And you can put them out any time you want." - -"Sure I can. I don't want to boast. But I just seem to possess the -ability. My eyes show me the opening that my skill knows how to make, -and time and distance are second nature to me. Dad called it a gift, -but I thought he was blarneying me. Now that I've been up against -these men, I guess he was right. He said I had the mind and muscle -correlation." - -"At any inch or second of the fight," Stubener repeated musingly. - -Pat nodded, and Stubener, absolutely believing him, caught a vision -of a golden future that should have fetched old Pat out of his grave. - -"Well, don't forget, we've got to give the crowd a run for its money," -he said. "We'll fix it up between us how many rounds a fight should -go. Now your next bout will be with the Flying Dutchman. Suppose you -let it run the full fifteen and put him out in the last round. That -will give you a chance to make a showing as well." - -"All right, Sam," was the answer. - -"It will be a test for you," Stubener warned. "You may fail to put -him out in that last round." - -"Watch me." Pat paused to put weight to his promise, and picked up -a volume of Longfellow. "If I don't I'll never read poetry again, -and that's going some." - -"You bet it is," his manager proclaimed jubilantly, "though what you -see in such stuff is beyond me." - -Pat sighed, but did not reply. In all his life he had found but one -person who cared for poetry, and that had been the red-haired school -teacher who scared him off into the woods. - - - - - - - - - -V - - -"Where are you going?" Stubener demanded in surprise, looking at -his watch. - -Pat, with his hand on the door-knob, paused and turned around. - -"To the Academy of Sciences," he said. "There's a professor who's -going to give a lecture there on Browning to-night, and Browning -is the sort of writer you need assistance with. Sometimes I think I -ought to go to night school." - -"But great Scott, man!" exclaimed the horrified manager. "You're on -with the Flying Dutchman to-night." - -"I know it. But I won't enter the ring a moment before half past nine -or quarter to ten. The lecture will be over at nine fifteen. If you -want to make sure, come around and pick me up in your machine." - -Stubener shrugged his shoulders helplessly. - -"You've got no kick coming," Pat assured him. "Dad used to tell me a -man's worst time was in the hours just before a fight, and that many a -fight was lost by a man's breaking down right there, with nothing to -do but think and be anxious. Well, you'll never need to worry about -me that way. You ought to be glad I can go off to a lecture." - -And later that night, in the course of watching fifteen splendid -rounds, Stubener chuckled to himself more than once at the idea -of what that audience of sports would think, did it know that this -magnificent young prize-fighter had come to the ring directly from -a Browning lecture. - -The Flying Dutchman was a young Swede who possessed an unwonted -willingness to fight and who was blessed with phenomenal endurance. He -never rested, was always on the offensive, and rushed and fought from -gong to gong. In the out-fighting his arms whirled about like flails, -in the in-fighting he was forever shouldering or half-wrestling and -starting blows whenever he could get a hand free. From start to finish -he was a whirlwind, hence his name. His failing was lack of judgment -in time and distance. Nevertheless he had won many fights by virtue of -landing one in each dozen or so of the unending fusillades of punches -he delivered. Pat, with strong upon him the caution that he must not -put his opponent out, was kept busy. Nor, though he escaped vital -damage, could he avoid entirely those eternal flying gloves. But it -was good training, and in a mild way he enjoyed the contest. - -"Could you get him now?" Stubener whispered in his ear during the -minute rest at the end of the fifth round. - -"Sure," was Pat's answer. - -"You know he's never yet been knocked out by any one," Stubener warned -a couple of rounds later. - -"Then I'm afraid I'll have to break my knuckles," Pat smiled. "I know -the punch I've got in me, and when I land it something's got to go. If -he won't, my knuckles will." - -"Do you think you could get him now?" Stubener asked at the end of -the thirteenth round. - -"Anytime, I tell you." - -"Well, then, Pat, let him run to the fifteenth." - -In the fourteenth round the Flying Dutchman exceeded himself. At the -stroke of the gong he rushed clear across the ring to the opposite -corner where Pat was leisurely getting to his feet. The house cheered, -for it knew the Flying Dutchman had cut loose. Pat, catching the -fun of it, whimsically decided to meet the terrific onslaught with -a wholly passive defense and not to strike a blow. Nor did he strike -a blow, nor feint a blow, during the three minutes of whirlwind that -followed. He gave a rare exhibition of stalling, sometimes hugging his -bowed face with his left arm, his abdomen with his right; at other -times, changing as the point of attack changed, so that both gloves -were held on either side his face, or both elbows and forearms guarded -his mid-section; and all the time moving about, clumsily shouldering, -or half-falling forward against his opponent and clogging his efforts; -himself never striking nor threatening to strike, the while rocking -with the impacts of the storming blows that beat upon his various -guards the devil's own tattoo. - -Those close at the ringside saw and appreciated, but the rest of -the audience, fooled, arose to its feet and roared its applause in -the mistaken notion that Pat, helpless, was receiving a terrible -beating. With the end of the round, the audience, dumbfounded, sank -back into its seats as Pat walked steadily to his corner. It was not -understandable. He should have been beaten to a pulp, and yet nothing -had happened to him. - -"Now are you going to get him?" Stubener queried anxiously. - -"Inside ten seconds," was Pat's confident assertion. "Watch me." - -There was no trick about it. When the gong struck and Pat bounded -to his feet, he advertised it unmistakably that for the first -time in the fight he was starting after his man. Not one onlooker -misunderstood. The Flying Dutchman read the advertisement, too, and for -the first time in his career, as they met in the center of the ring, -visibly hesitated. For the fraction of a second they faced each other -in position. Then the Flying Dutchman leaped forward upon his man, -and Pat, with a timed right-cross, dropped him cold as he leaped. - -It was after this battle that Pat Glendon started on his upward rush -to fame. The sports and the sporting writers took him up. For the first -time the Flying Dutchman had been knocked out. His conqueror had proved -a wizard of defense. His previous victories had not been flukes. He had -a kick in both his hands. Giant that he was, he would go far. The time -was already past, the writers asserted, for him to waste himself on the -third-raters and chopping blocks. Where were Ben Menzies, Rege Rede, -Bill Tarwater, and Ernest Lawson? It was time for them to meet this -young cub that had suddenly shown himself a fighter of quality. Where -was his manager anyway, that he was not issuing the challenges? - -And then fame came in a day; for Stubener divulged the secret that -his man was none other than the son of Pat Glendon, Old Pat, the -old-time ring hero. "Young" Pat Glendon, he was promptly christened, -and sports and writers flocked about him to admire him, and back him, -and write him up. - -Beginning with Ben Menzies and finishing with Bill Tarwater, he -challenged, fought, and knocked out the four second-raters. To do this, -he was compelled to travel, the battles taking place in Goldfield, -Denver, Texas, and New York. To accomplish it required months, for -the bigger fights were not easily arranged, and the men themselves -demanded more time for training. - -The second year saw him running to cover and disposing of the -half-dozen big fighters that clustered just beneath the top of -the heavyweight ladder. On this top, firmly planted, stood "Big" -Jim Hanford, the undefeated world champion. Here, on the top rungs, -progress was slower, though Stubener was indefatigable in issuing -challenges and in promoting sporting opinion to force the man to -fight. Will King was disposed of in England, and Glendon pursued -Tom Harrison half way around the world to defeat him on Boxing Day -in Australia. - -But the purses grew larger and larger. In place of a hundred dollars, -such as his first battles had earned him, he was now receiving -from twenty to thirty thousand dollars a fight, as well as equally -large sums from the moving picture men. Stubener took his manager's -percentage of all this, according to the terms of the contract old Pat -had drawn up, and both he and Glendon, despite their heavy expenses, -were waxing rich. This was due, more than anything else, to the clean -lives they lived. They were not wasters. - -Stubener was attracted to real estate, and his holdings in San -Francisco, consisting of building flats and apartment houses, were -bigger than Glendon ever dreamed. There was a secret syndicate of -bettors, however, which could have made an accurate guess at the -size of Stubener's holdings, while heavy bonus after heavy bonus, -of which Glendon never heard, was paid over to his manager by the -moving picture men. - -Stubener's most serious task was in maintaining the innocence of -his young gladiator. Nor did he find it difficult. Glendon, who had -nothing to do with the business end, was little interested. Besides, -wherever his travels took him, he spent his spare time in hunting -and fishing. He rarely mingled with those of the sporting world, -was notoriously shy and secluded, and preferred art galleries and -books of verse to sporting gossip. Also, his trainers and sparring -partners were rigorously instructed by the manager to keep their -tongues away from the slightest hints of ring rottenness. In every -way Stubener intervened between Glendon and the world. He was never -even interviewed save in Stubener's presence. - -Only once was Glendon approached. It was just prior to his battle -with Henderson, and an offer of a hundred thousand was made to him -to throw the fight. It was made hurriedly, in swift whispers, in a -hotel corridor, and it was fortunate for the man that Pat controlled -his temper and shouldered past him without reply. He brought the tale -of it to Stubener, who said: - -"It's only con, Pat. They were trying to josh you." He noted the blue -eyes blaze. "And maybe worse than that. If they could have got you -to fall for it, there might have been a big sensation in the papers -that would have finished you. But I doubt it. Such things don't happen -any more. It's a myth, that's what it is, that has come down from the -middle history of the ring. There has been rottenness in the past, -but no fighter or manager of reputation would dare anything of the -sort to-day. Why, Pat, the men in the game are as clean and straight -as those in professional baseball, than which there is nothing cleaner -or straighter." - -And all the while he talked, Stubener knew in his heart that the -forthcoming fight with Henderson was not to be shorter than twelve -rounds--this for the moving pictures--and not longer than the -fourteenth round. And he knew, furthermore, so big were the stakes -involved, that Henderson himself was pledged not to last beyond -the fourteenth. - -And Glendon, never approached again, dismissed the matter from his mind -and went out to spend the afternoon in taking color photographs. The -camera had become his latest hobby. Loving pictures, yet unable to -paint, he had compromised by taking up photography. In his hand baggage -was one grip packed with books on the subject, and he spent long hours -in the dark room, realizing for himself the various processes. Never -had there been a great fighter who was as aloof from the fighting world -as he. Because he had little to say with those he encountered, he was -called sullen and unsocial, and out of this a newspaper reputation -took form that was not an exaggeration so much as it was an entire -misconception. Boiled down, his character in print was that of an -ox-muscled and dumbly stupid brute, and one callow sporting writer -dubbed him the "abysmal brute." The name stuck. The rest of the -fraternity hailed it with delight, and thereafter Glendon's name never -appeared in print unconnected with it. Often, in a headline or under -a photograph, "The Abysmal Brute," capitalized and without quotation -marks, appeared alone. All the world knew who was this brute. This -made him draw into himself closer than ever, while it developed a -bitter prejudice against newspaper folk. - -Regarding fighting itself, his earlier mild interest grew stronger. The -men he now fought were anything but dubs, and victory did not come -so easily. They were picked men, experienced ring generals, and each -battle was a problem. There were occasions when he found it impossible -to put them out in any designated later round of a fight. Thus, with -Sulzberger, the gigantic German, try as he would in the eighteenth -round, he failed to get him, in the nineteenth it was the same story, -and not till the twentieth did he manage to break through the baffling -guard and drop him. Glendon's increasing enjoyment of the game was -accompanied by severer and prolonged training. Never dissipating, -spending much of his time on hunting trips in the hills, he was -practically always in the pink of condition, and, unlike his father, -no unfortunate accidents marred his career. He never broke a bone, -nor injured so much as a knuckle. One thing that Stubener noted with -secret glee was that his young fighter no longer talked of going -permanently back to his mountains when he had won the championship -away from Jim Hanford. - - - - - - - - - -VI - - -The consummation of his career was rapidly approaching. The great -champion had even publicly intimated his readiness to take on Glendon -as soon as the latter had disposed of the three or four aspirants for -the championship who intervened. In six months Pat managed to put away -Kid McGrath and Philadelphia Jack McBride, and there remained only Nat -Powers and Tom Cannam. And all would have been well had not a certain -society girl gone adventuring into journalism, and had not Stubener -agreed to an interview with the woman reporter of the San Francisco -"Courier-Journal." - -Her work was always published over the name of Maud Sangster, which, -by the way, was her own name. The Sangsters were a notoriously -wealthy family. The founder, old Jacob Sangster, had packed his -blankets and worked as a farm-hand in the West. He had discovered an -inexhaustible borax deposit in Nevada, and, from hauling it out by -mule-teams, had built a railroad to do the freighting. Following that, -he had poured the profits of borax into the purchase of hundreds and -thousands of square miles of timber lands in California, Oregon, and -Washington. Still later, he had combined politics with business, bought -statesmen, judges, and machines, and become a captain of complicated -industry. And after that he had died, full of honor and pessimism, -leaving his name a muddy blot for future historians to smudge, -and also leaving a matter of a couple of hundreds of millions for -his four sons to squabble over. The legal, industrial, and political -battles that followed, vexed and amused California for a generation, -and culminated in deadly hatred and unspeaking terms between the four -sons. The youngest, Theodore, in middle life experienced a change of -heart, sold out his stock farms and racing stables, and plunged into -a fight with all the corrupt powers of his native state, including -most of its millionaires, in a quixotic attempt to purge it of the -infamy which had been implanted by old Jacob Sangster. - -Maud Sangster was Theodore's oldest daughter. The Sangster stock -uniformly bred fighters among the men and beauties among the women. Nor -was Maud an exception. Also, she must have inherited some of the virus -of adventure from the Sangster breed, for she had come to womanhood -and done a multitude of things of which no woman in her position should -have been guilty. A match in ten thousand, she remained unmarried. She -had sojourned in Europe without bringing home a nobleman for spouse, -and had declined a goodly portion of her own set at home. She had -gone in for outdoor sports, won the tennis championship of the state, -kept the society weeklies agog with her unconventionalities, walked -from San Mateo to Santa Cruz against time on a wager, and once caused -a sensation by playing polo in a men's team at a private Burlingame -practice game. Incidentally, she had gone in for art, and maintained -a studio in San Francisco's Latin Quarter. - -All this had been of little moment until her father's reform attack -became acute. Passionately independent, never yet having met the man -to whom she could gladly submit, and bored by those who had aspired, -she resented her father's interference with her way of life and put the -climax on all her social misdeeds by leaving home and going to work on -the "Courier-Journal." Beginning at twenty dollars a week, her salary -had swiftly risen to fifty. Her work was principally musical, dramatic, -and art criticism, though she was not above mere journalistic stunts if -they promised to be sufficiently interesting. Thus she scooped the big -interview with Morgan at a time when he was being futilely trailed by a -dozen New York star journalists, went down to the bottom of the Golden -Gate in a diver's suit, and flew with Rood, the bird man, when he -broke all records of continuous flight by reaching as far as Riverside. - -Now it must not be imagined that Maud Sangster was a hard-bitten -Amazon. On the contrary, she was a gray-eyed, slender young woman, -of three or four and twenty, of medium stature, and possessing -uncommonly small hands and feet for an outdoor woman or any other -kind of a woman. Also, far in excess of most outdoor women, she knew -how to be daintily feminine. - -It was on her own suggestion that she received the editor's commission -to interview Pat Glendon. With the exception of having caught a -glimpse, once, of Bob Fitzsimmons in evening dress at the Palace -Grill, she had never seen a prizefighter in her life. Nor was she -curious to see one--at least she had not been curious until Young -Pat Glendon came to San Francisco to train for his fight with Nat -Powers. Then his newspaper reputation had aroused her. The Abysmal -Brute!--it certainly must be worth seeing. From what she read of him -she gleaned that he was a man-monster, profoundly stupid and with -the sullenness and ferocity of a jungle beast. True, his published -photographs did not show all that, but they did show the hugeness of -brawn that might be expected to go with it. And so, accompanied by -a staff photographer, she went out to the training quarters at the -Cliff House at the hour appointed by Stubener. - -That real estate owner was having trouble. Pat was rebellious. He sat, -one big leg dangling over the side of the arm chair and Shakespeare's -Sonnets face downward on his knee, orating against the new woman. - -"What do they want to come butting into the game for?" he -demanded. "It's not their place. What do they know about it anyway? The -men are bad enough as it is. I'm not a holy show. This woman's coming -here to make me one. I never have stood for women around the training -quarters, and I don't care if she is a reporter." - -"But she's not an ordinary reporter," Stubener interposed. "You've -heard of the Sangsters?--the millionaires?" - -Pat nodded. - -"Well, she's one of them. She's high society and all that stuff. She -could be running with the Blingum crowd now if she wanted to instead -of working for wages. Her old man's worth fifty millions if he's -worth a cent." - -"Then what's she working on a paper for?--keeping some poor devil -out of a job." - -"She and the old man fell out, had a tiff or something, about -the time he started to clean up San Francisco. She quit. That's -all--left home and got a job. And let me tell you one thing, Pat: -she can everlastingly sling English. There isn't a pen-pusher on the -Coast can touch her when she gets going." - -Pat began to show interest, and Stubener hurried on. - -"She writes poetry, too--the regular la-de-dah stuff, just like -you. Only I guess hers is better, because she published a whole book -of it once. And she writes up the shows. She interviews every big -actor that hits this burg." - -"I've seen her name in the papers," Pat commented. - -"Sure you have. And you're honored, Pat, by her coming to interview -you. It won't bother you any. I'll stick right by and give her most -of the dope myself. You know I've always done that." - -Pat looked his gratitude. - -"And another thing, Pat: don't forget you've got to put up with this -interviewing. It's part of your business. It's big advertising, and it -comes free. We can't buy it. It interests people, draws the crowds, and -it's crowds that pile up the gate receipts." He stopped and listened, -then looked at his watch. "I think that's her now. I'll go and get her -and bring her in. I'll tip it off to her to cut it short, you know, -and it won't take long." He turned in the doorway. "And be decent, -Pat. Don't shut up like a clam. Talk a bit to her when she asks -you questions." - -Pat put the Sonnets on the table, took up a newspaper, and was -apparently deep in its contents when the two entered the room and he -stood up. The meeting was a mutual shock. When blue eyes met gray, -it was almost as if the man and the woman shouted triumphantly to -each other, as if each had found something sought and unexpected. But -this was for the instant only. Each had anticipated in the other -something so totally different that the next moment the clear cry of -recognition gave way to confusion. As is the way of women, she was -the first to achieve control, and she did it without having given -any outward sign that she had ever lost it. She advanced most of the -distance across the floor to meet Glendon. As for him, he scarcely -knew how he stumbled through the introduction. Here was a woman, -a WOMAN. He had not known that such a creature could exist. The few -women he had noticed had never prefigured this. He wondered what Old -Pat's judgment would have been of her, if she was the sort he had -recommended to hang on to with both his hands. He discovered that -in some way he was holding her hand. He looked at it, curious and -fascinated, marveling at its fragility. - -She, on the other hand, had proceeded to obliterate the echoes of that -first clear call. It had been a peculiar experience, that was all, -this sudden out-rush of her toward this strange man. For was not he -the abysmal brute of the prize-ring, the great, fighting, stupid bulk -of a male animal who hammered up his fellow males of the same stupid -order? She smiled at the way he continued to hold her hand. - -"I'll have it back, please, Mr. Glendon," she said. "I ... I really -need it, you know." - -He looked at her blankly, followed her gaze to her imprisoned hand, -and dropped it in a rush of awkwardness that sent the blood in a -manifest blush to his face. - -She noted the blush, and the thought came to her that he did not seem -quite the uncouth brute she had pictured. She could not conceive of a -brute blushing at anything. And also, she found herself pleased with -the fact that he lacked the easy glibness to murmur an apology. But -the way he devoured her with his eyes was disconcerting. He stared -at her as if in a trance, while his cheeks flushed even more redly. - -Stubener by this time had fetched a chair for her, and Glendon -automatically sank down into his. - -"He's in fine shape, Miss Sangster, in fine shape," the manager was -saying. "That's right, isn't it, Pat? Never felt better in your life?" - -Glendon was bothered by this. His brows contracted in a troubled way, -and he made no reply. - -"I've wanted to meet you for a long time, Mr. Glendon," Miss Sangster -said. "I never interviewed a pugilist before, so if I don't go about -it expertly you'll forgive me, I am sure." - -"Maybe you'd better start in by seeing him in action," was the -manager's suggestion. "While he's getting into his fighting togs I -can tell you a lot about him--fresh stuff, too. We'll call in Walsh, -Pat, and go a couple of rounds." - -"We'll do nothing of the sort," Glendon growled roughly, in just the -way an abysmal brute should. "Go ahead with the interview." - -The business went ahead unsatisfactorily. Stubener did most of the -talking and suggesting, which was sufficient to irritate Maud Sangster, -while Pat volunteered nothing. She studied his fine countenance, the -eyes clear blue and wide apart, the well-modeled, almost aquiline, -nose, the firm, chaste lips that were sweet in a masculine way in -their curl at the corners and that gave no hint of any sullenness. It -was a baffling personality, she concluded, if what the papers said -of him was so. In vain she sought for earmarks of the brute. And in -vain she attempted to establish contacts. For one thing, she knew too -little about prize-fighters and the ring, and whenever she opened up a -lead it was promptly snatched away by the information-oozing Stubener. - -"It must be most interesting, this life of a pugilist," she said -once, adding with a sigh, "I wish I knew more about it. Tell me: -why do you fight?--Oh, aside from money reasons." (This latter to -forestall Stubener). "Do you enjoy fighting? Are you stirred by it, -by pitting yourself against other men? I hardly know how to express -what I mean, so you must be patient with me." - -Pat and Stubener began speaking together, but for once Pat bore his -manager down. - -"I didn't care for it at first--" - -"You see, it was too dead easy for him," Stubener interrupted. - -"But later," Pat went on, "when I encountered the better fighters, -the real big clever ones, where I was more--" - -"On your mettle?" she suggested. - -"Yes; that's it, more on my mettle, I found I did care for it ... a -great deal, in fact. But still, it's not so absorbing to me as it might -be. You see, while each battle is a sort of problem which I must work -out with my wits and muscle, yet to me the issue is never in doubt--" - -"He's never had a fight go to a decision," Stubener proclaimed. "He's -won every battle by the knock-out route." - -"And it's this certainty of the outcome that robs it of what I imagine -must be its finest thrills," Pat concluded. - -"Maybe you'll get some of them thrills when you go up against Jim -Hanford," said the manager. - -Pat smiled, but did not speak. - -"Tell me some more," she urged, "more about the way you feel when -you are fighting." - -And then Pat amazed his manager, Miss Sangster, and himself, by -blurting out: - -"It seems to me I don't want to talk with you on such things. It's as -if there are things more important for you and me to talk about. I--" - -He stopped abruptly, aware of what he was saying but unaware of why -he was saying it. - -"Yes," she cried eagerly. "That's it. That is what makes a good -interview--the real personality, you know." - -But Pat remained tongue-tied, and Stubener wandered away on a -statistical comparison of his champion's weights, measurements, and -expansions with those of Sandow, the Terrible Turk, Jeffries, and the -other modern strong men. This was of little interest to Maud Sangster, -and she showed that she was bored. Her eyes chanced to rest on the -Sonnets. She picked the book up and glanced inquiringly at Stubener. - -"That's Pat's," he said. "He goes in for that kind of stuff, and color -photography, and art exhibits, and such things. But for heaven's sake -don't publish anything about it. It would ruin his reputation." - -She looked accusingly at Glendon, who immediately became awkward. To -her it was delicious. A shy young man, with the body of a giant, -who was one of the kings of bruisers, and who read poetry, and went -to art exhibits, and experimented with color photography! Of a surety -there was no abysmal brute here. His very shyness she divined now was -due to sensitiveness and not stupidity. Shakespeare's Sonnets! This -was a phase that would bear investigation. But Stubener stole the -opportunity away and was back chanting his everlasting statistics. - -A few minutes later, and most unwittingly, she opened up the biggest -lead of all. That first sharp attraction toward him had begun to stir -again after the discovery of the Sonnets. The magnificent frame of his, -the handsome face, the chaste lips, the clear-looking eyes, the fine -forehead which the short crop of blond hair did not hide, the aura -of physical well-being and cleanness which he seemed to emanate--all -this, and more that she sensed, drew her as she had never been drawn -by any man, and yet through her mind kept running the nasty rumors -that she had heard only the day before at the "Courier-Journal" office. - -"You were right," she said. "There is something more important to -talk about. There is something in my mind I want you to reconcile -for me. Do you mind?" - -Pat shook his head. - -"If I am frank?--abominably frank? I've heard the men, sometimes, -talking of particular fights and of the betting odds, and, while I -gave no heed to it at the time, it seemed to me it was firmly agreed -that there was a great deal of trickery and cheating connected with -the sport. Now, when I look at you, for instance, I find it hard to -understand how you can be a party to such cheating. I can understand -your liking the sport for a sport, as well as for the money it brings -you, but I can't understand--" - -"There's nothing to understand," Stubener broke in, while Pat's lips -were wreathed in a gentle, tolerant smile. "It's all fairy tales, -this talk about faking, about fixed fights, and all that rot. There's -nothing to it, Miss Sangster, I assure you. And now let me tell -you about how I discovered Mr. Glendon. It was a letter I got from -his father--" - -But Maud Sangster refused to be side-tracked, and addressed herself -to Pat. - -"Listen. I remember one case particularly. It was some fight that -took place several months ago--I forget the contestants. One of -the editors of the "Courier-Journal" told me he intended to make a -good winning. He didn't hope; he said he intended. He said he was on -the inside and was betting on the number of rounds. He told me the -fight would end in the nineteenth. This was the night before. And -the next day he triumphantly called my attention to the fact that it -had ended in that very round. I didn't think anything of it one way -or the other. I was not interested in prize-fighting then. But I am -now. At the time it seemed quite in accord with the vague conception -I had about fighting. So you see, it isn't all fairy tales, is it?" - -"I know that fight," Glendon said. "It was Owen and Murgweather. And -it did end in the nineteenth round, Sam. And she said she heard that -round named the day before. How do you account for it, Sam?" - -"How do you account for a man picking a lucky lottery ticket?" the -manager evaded, while getting his wits together to answer. "That's -the very point. Men who study form and condition and seconds and -rules and such things often pick the number of rounds, just as -men have been known to pick hundred-to-one shots in the races. And -don't forget one thing: for every man that wins, there's another -that loses, there's another that didn't pick right. Miss Sangster, -I assure you, on my honor, that faking and fixing in the fight game -is ... is non-existent." - -"What is your opinion, Mr. Glendon?" she asked. - -"The same as mine," Stubener snatched the answer. "He knows what I say -is true, every word of it. He's never fought anything but a straight -fight in his life. Isn't that right, Pat?" - -"Yes; it's right," Pat affirmed, and the peculiar thing to Maud -Sangster was that she was convinced he spoke the truth. - -She brushed her forehead with her hand, as if to rid herself of the -bepuzzlement that clouded her brain. - -"Listen," she said. "Last night the same editor told me that your -forthcoming fight was arranged to the very round in which it would -end." - -Stubener was verging on a panic, but Pat's speech saved him from -replying. - -"Then the editor lies," Pat's voice boomed now for the first time. - -"He did not lie before, about that other fight," she challenged. - -"What round did he say my fight with Nat Powers would end in?" - -Before she could answer, the manager was into the thick of it. - -"Oh, rats, Pat!" he cried. "Shut up. It's only the regular run of -ring rumors. Let's get on with this interview." - -He was ignored by Glendon, whose eyes, bent on hers, were no longer -mildly blue, but harsh and imperative. She was sure now that she had -stumbled on something tremendous, something that would explain all -that had baffled her. At the same time she thrilled to the mastery -of his voice and gaze. Here was a male man who would take hold of -life and shake out of it what he wanted. - -"What round did the editor say?" Glendon reiterated his demand. - -"For the love of Mike, Pat, stop this foolishness," Stubener broke in. - -"I wish you would give me a chance to answer," Maud Sangster said. - -"I guess I'm able to talk with Miss Sangster," Glendon added. "You -get out, Sam. Go off and take care of that photographer." - -They looked at each other for a tense, silent moment, then the manager -moved slowly to the door, opened it, and turned his head to listen. - -"And now what round did he say?" - -"I hope I haven't made a mistake," she said tremulously, "but I am -very sure that he said the sixteenth round." - -She saw surprise and anger leap into Glendon's face, and the anger -and accusation in the glance he cast at his manager, and she knew -the blow had driven home. - -And there was reason for his anger. He knew he had talked it over -with Stubener, and they had reached a decision to give the audience -a good run for its money without unnecessarily prolonging the fight, -and to end it in the sixteenth. And here was a woman, from a newspaper -office, naming the very round. - -Stubener, in the doorway, looked limp and pale, and it was evident -he was holding himself together by an effort. - -"I'll see you later," Pat told him. "Shut the door behind you." - -The door closed, and the two were left alone. Glendon did not -speak. The expression on his face was frankly one of trouble and -perplexity. - -"Well?" she asked. - -He got up and towered above her, then sat down again, moistening his -lips with his tongue. - -"I'll tell you one thing," he finally said "The fight won't end in -the sixteenth round." - -She did not speak, but her unconvinced and quizzical smile hurt him. - -"You wait and see, Miss Sangster, and you'll see that editor man -is mistaken." - -"You mean the program is to be changed?" she queried audaciously. - -He quivered to the cut of her words. - -"I am not accustomed to lying," he said stiffly, "even to women." - -"Neither have you to me, nor have you denied the program is to be -changed. Perhaps, Mr. Glendon, I am stupid, but I fail to see the -difference in what number the final round occurs so long as it is -predetermined and known." - -"I'll tell you that round, and not another soul shall know." - -She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. - -"It sounds to me very much like a racing tip. They are always given -that way, you know. Furthermore, I am not quite stupid, and I know -there is something wrong here. Why were you made angry by my naming -the round? Why were you angry with your manager? Why did you send -him from the room?" - -For reply, Glendon walked over to the window, as if to look out, -where he changed his mind and partly turned, and she knew, without -seeing, that he was studying her face. He came back and sat down. - -"You've said I haven't lied to you, Miss Sangster, and you were -right. I haven't." He paused, groping painfully for a correct statement -of the situation. "Now do you think you can believe what I am going -to tell you? Will you take the word of a ... prize-fighter?" - -She nodded gravely, looking him straight in the eyes and certain that -what he was about to tell was the truth. - -"I've always fought straight and square. I've never touched a piece -of dirty money in my life, nor attempted a dirty trick. Now I can -go on from that. You've shaken me up pretty badly by what you told -me. I don't know what to make of it. I can't pass a snap judgment -on it. I don't know. But it looks bad. That's what troubles me. For -see you, Stubener and I have talked this fight over, and it was -understood between us that I would end the fight in the sixteenth -round. Now you bring the same word. How did that editor know? Not from -me. Stubener must have let it out ... unless...." He stopped to debate -the problem. "Unless that editor is a lucky guesser. I can't make up my -mind about it. I'll have to keep my eyes open and wait and learn. Every -word I've given you is straight, and there's my hand on it." - -Again he towered out of his chair and over to her. Her small hand was -gripped in his big one as she arose to meet him, and after a fair, -straight look into the eyes between them, both glanced unconsciously -at the clasped hands. She felt that she had never been more aware -that she was a woman. The sex emphasis of those two hands--the -soft and fragile feminine and the heavy, muscular masculine--was -startling. Glendon was the first to speak. - -"You could be hurt so easily," he said; and at the same time she felt -the firmness of his grip almost caressingly relax. - -She remembered the old Prussian king's love for giants, and laughed -at the incongruity of the thought-association as she withdrew her hand. - -"I am glad you came here to-day," he said, then hurried on awkwardly -to make an explanation which the warm light of admiration in his eyes -belied. "I mean because maybe you have opened my eyes to the crooked -dealing that has been going on." - -"You have surprised me," she urged. "It seemed to me that it is so -generally understood that prize-fighting is full of crookedness, that -I cannot understand how you, one of its chief exponents, could be -ignorant of it. I thought as a matter of course that you would know -all about it, and now you have convinced me that you never dreamed -of it. You must be different from other fighters." - -He nodded his head. - -"That explains it, I guess. And that's what comes of keeping away from -it--from the other fighters, and promoters, and sports. It was easy -to pull the wool over my eyes. Yet it remains to be seen whether it -has really been pulled over or not. You see, I am going to find out -for myself." - -"And change it?" she queried, rather breathlessly, convinced somehow -that he could do anything he set out to accomplish. - -"No; quit it," was his answer. "If it isn't straight I won't have -anything more to do with it. And one thing is certain: this coming -fight with Nat Powers won't end in the sixteenth round. If there is -any truth in that editor's tip, they'll all be fooled. Instead of -putting him out in the sixteenth, I'll let the fight run on into the -twenties. You wait and see." - -"And I'm not to tell the editor?" - -She was on her feet now, preparing to go. - -"Certainly not. If he is only guessing, let him take his chances. And -if there's anything rotten about it he deserves to lose all he -bets. This is to be a little secret between you and me. I'll tell -you what I'll do. I'll name the round to you. I won't run it into -the twenties. I'll stop Nat Powers in the eighteenth." - -"And I'll not whisper it," she assured him. - -"I'd like to ask you a favor," he said tentatively. "Maybe it's a -big favor." - -She showed her acquiescence in her face, as if it were already granted, -and he went on: - -"Of course, I know you won't use this faking in the interview. But -I want more than that. I don't want you to publish anything at all." - -She gave him a quick look with her searching gray eyes, then surprised -herself by her answer. - -"Certainly," she said. "It will not be published. I won't write a -line of it." - -"I knew it," he said simply. - -For the moment she was disappointed by the lack of thanks, and the -next moment she was glad that he had not thanked her. She sensed the -different foundation he was building under this meeting of an hour -with her, and she became daringly explorative. - -"How did you know it?" she asked. - -"I don't know." He shook his head. "I can't explain it. I knew it -as a matter of course. Somehow it seems to me I know a lot about you -and me." - -"But why not publish the interview? As your manager says, it is -good advertising." - -"I know it," he answered slowly. "But I don't want to know you that -way. I think it would hurt if you should publish it. I don't want to -think that I knew you professionally. I'd like to remember our talk -here as a talk between a man and a woman. I don't know whether you -understand what I'm driving at. But it's the way I feel. I want to -remember this just as a man and a woman." - -As he spoke, in his eyes was all the expression with which a man -looks at a woman. She felt the force and beat of him, and she felt -strangely tongue-tied and awkward before this man who had been reputed -tongue-tied and awkward. He could certainly talk straighter to the -point and more convincingly than most men, and what struck her most -forcibly was her own inborn certainty that it was mere naïve and -simple frankness on his part and not a practised artfulness. - -He saw her into her machine, and gave her another thrill when he said -good-by. Once again their hands were clasped as he said: - -"Some day I'll see you again. I want to see you again. Somehow I have -a feeling that the last word has not been said between us." - -And as the machine rolled away she was aware of a similar feeling. She -had not seen the last of this very disquieting Pat Glendon, king of -the bruisers and abysmal brute. - -Back in the training quarters, Glendon encountered his perturbed -manager. - -"What did you fire me out for?" Stubener demanded. "We're finished. A -hell of a mess you've made. You've never stood for meeting a reporter -alone before, and now you'll see when that interview comes out." - -Glendon, who had been regarding him with cool amusement, made as if -to turn and pass on, and then changed his mind. - -"It won't come out," he said. - -Stubener looked up sharply. - -"I asked her not to," Glendon explained. - -Then Stubener exploded. - -"As if she'd kill a juicy thing like that." - -Glendon became very cold and his voice was harsh and grating. - -"It won't be published. She told me so. And to doubt it is to call -her a liar." - -The Irish flame was in his eyes, and by that, and by the unconscious -clenching of his passion-wrought hands, Stubener, who knew the strength -of them, and of the man he faced, no longer dared to doubt. - - - - - - - - - -VII - - -It did not take Stubener long to find out that Glendon intended -extending the distance of the fight, though try as he would he could -get no hint of the number of the round. He wasted no time, however, -and privily clinched certain arrangements with Nat Powers and Nat -Powers' manager. Powers had a faithful following of bettors, and the -betting syndicate was not to be denied its harvest. - -On the night of the fight, Maud Sangster was guilty of a more daring -unconventionality than any she had yet committed, though no whisper of -it leaked out to shock society. Under the protection of the editor, -she occupied a ring-side seat. Her hair and most of her face were -hidden under a slouch hat, while she wore a man's long overcoat that -fell to her heels. Entering in the thick of the crowd, she was not -noticed; nor did the newspaper men, in the press seats against the -ring directly in front of her, recognize her. - -As was the growing custom, there were no preliminary bouts, and she had -barely gained her seat when roars of applause announced the arrival -of Nat Powers. He came down the aisle in the midst of his seconds, -and she was almost frightened by the formidable bulk of him. Yet he -leaped the ropes as lightly as a man half his weight, and grinned -acknowledgment to the tumultuous greeting that arose from all the -house. He was not pretty. Two cauliflower ears attested his profession -and its attendant brutality, while his broken nose had been so often -spread over his face as to defy the surgeon's art to reconstruct it. - -Another uproar heralded the arrival of Glendon, and she watched him -eagerly as he went through the ropes to his corner. But it was not -until the tedious time of announcements, introductions, and challenges -was over, that the two men threw off their wraps and faced each other -in ring costume. Concentrated upon them from overhead was the white -glare of many electric lights--this for the benefit of the moving -picture cameras; and she felt, as she looked at the two sharply -contrasted men, that it was in Glendon that she saw the thoroughbred -and in Powers the abysmal brute. Both looked their parts--Glendon, -clean cut in face and form, softly and massively beautiful, Powers -almost asymmetrically rugged and heavily matted with hair. - -As they made their preliminary pose for the cameras, confronting -each other in fighting attitudes, it chanced that Glendon's gaze -dropped down through the ropes and rested on her face. Though he -gave no sign, she knew, with a swift leap of the heart, that he had -recognized her. The next moment the gong sounded, the announcer cried -"Let her go!" and the battle was on. - -It was a good fight. There was no blood, no marring, and both were -clever. Half of the first round was spent in feeling each other out, -but Maud Sangster found the play and feint and tap of the gloves -sufficiently exciting. During some of the fiercer rallies in later -stages of the fight, the editor was compelled to touch her arm to -remind her who she was and where she was. - -Powers fought easily and cleanly, as became the hero of half a -hundred ring battles, and an admiring claque applauded his every -cleverness. Yet he did not unduly exert himself save in occasional -strenuous rallies that brought the audience yelling to its feet in -the mistaken notion that he was getting his man. - -It was at such a moment, when her unpractised eye could not inform -her that Glendon was escaping serious damage, that the editor leaned -to her and said: - -"Young Pat will win all right. He's a comer, and they can't stop -him. But he'll win in the sixteenth and not before." - -"Or after?" she asked. - -She almost laughed at the certitude of her companion's negative. She -knew better. - -Powers was noted for hunting his man from moment to moment and round to -round, and Glendon was content to accede to this program. His defense -was admirable, and he threw in just enough of offense to whet the edge -of the audience's interest. Though he knew he was scheduled to lose, -Powers had had too long a ring experience to hesitate from knocking his -man out if the opportunity offered. He had had the double cross worked -too often on him to be chary in working it on others. If he got his -chance he was prepared to knock his man out and let the syndicate go -hang. Thanks to clever press publicity, the idea was prevalent that at -last Young Glendon had met his master. In his heart, Powers, however, -knew that it was himself who had encountered the better man. More than -once, in the faster in-fighting, he received the weight of punches -that he knew had been deliberately made no heavier. - -On Glendon's part, there were times and times when a slip or error -of judgment could have exposed him to one of his antagonist's -sledge-hammer blows and lost him the fight. Yet his was that almost -miraculous power of accurate timing and distancing, and his confidence -was not shaken by the several close shaves he experienced. He had -never lost a fight, never been knocked down, and he had always been -so thoroughly the master of the man he faced, that such a possibility -was unthinkable. - -At the end of the fifteenth round, both men were in good condition, -though Powers was breathing a trifle heavily and there were men in -the ringside seats offering odds that he would "blow up." - -It was just before the gong for the sixteenth round struck that -Stubener, leaning over Glendon from behind in his corner, whispered: - -"Are you going to get him now?" - -Glendon, with a back toss of his head, shook it and laughed mockingly -up into his manager's anxious face. - -With the stroke of the gong for the sixteenth round, Glendon was -surprised to see Powers cut loose. From the first second it was -a tornado of fighting, and Glendon was hard put to escape serious -damage. He blocked, clinched, ducked, sidestepped, was rushed backward -against the ropes and was met by fresh rushes when he surged out to -center. Several times Powers left inviting openings, but Glendon -refused to loose the lightning-bolt of a blow that would drop his -man. He was reserving that blow for two rounds later. Not in the -whole fight had he ever exerted his full strength, nor struck with -the force that was in him. - -For two minutes, without the slightest let-up, Powers went at him -hammer and tongs. In another minute the round would be over and the -betting syndicate hard hit. But that minute was not to be. They had -just come together in the center of the ring. It was as ordinary -a clinch as any in the fight, save that Powers was struggling and -roughing it every instant. Glendon whipped his left over in a crisp -but easy jolt to the side of the face. It was like any of a score of -similar jolts he had already delivered in the course of the fight. To -his amazement he felt Powers go limp in his arms and begin sinking -to the floor on sagging, spraddling legs that refused to bear his -weight. He struck the floor with a thump, rolled half over on his -side, and lay with closed eyes and motionless. The referee, bending -above him, was shouting the count. - -At the cry of "Nine!" Powers quivered as if making a vain effort -to rise. - -"Ten!--and out!" cried the referee. - -He caught Glendon's hand and raised it aloft to the roaring audience -in token that he was the winner. - -For the first time in the ring, Glendon was dazed. It had not been a -knockout blow. He could stake his life on that. It had not been to -the jaw but to the side of the face, and he knew it had gone there -and nowhere else. Yet the man was out, had been counted out, and he -had faked it beautifully. That final thump on the floor had been a -convincing masterpiece. To the audience it was indubitably a knockout, -and the moving picture machines would perpetuate the lie. The editor -had called the turn after all, and a crooked turn it was. - -Glendon shot a swift glance through the ropes to the face of Maud -Sangster. She was looking straight at him, but her eyes were bleak and -hard, and there was neither recognition nor expression in them. Even -as he looked, she turned away unconcernedly and said something to -the man beside her. - -Powers' seconds were carrying him to his corner, a seeming limp wreck -of a man. Glendon's seconds were advancing upon him to congratulate him -and to remove his gloves. But Stubener was ahead of them. His face was -beaming as he caught Glendon's right glove in both his hands and cried: - -"Good boy, Pat. I knew you'd do it." - -Glendon pulled his glove away. And for the first time in the years -they had been together, his manager heard him swear. - -"You go to hell," he said, and turned to hold out his hands for his -seconds to pull off the gloves. - - - - - - - - - -VIII - - -That night, after receiving the editor's final dictum that there was -not a square fighter in the game, Maud Sangster cried quietly for a -moment on the edge of her bed, grew angry, and went to sleep hugely -disgusted with herself, prize-fighters, and the world in general. - -The next afternoon she began work on an interview with Henry Addison -that was destined never to be finished. It was in the private room -that was accorded her at the "Courier-Journal" office that the thing -happened. She had paused in her writing to glance at a headline in the -afternoon paper announcing that Glendon was matched with Tom Cannam, -when one of the door-boys brought in a card. It was Glendon's. - -"Tell him I can't be seen," she told the boy. - -In a minute he was back. - -"He says he's coming in anyway, but he'd rather have your permission." - -"Did you tell him I was busy?" she asked. - -"Yes'm, but he said he was coming just the same." - -She made no answer, and the boy, his eyes shining with admiration -for the importunate visitor, rattled on. - -"I know'm. He's a awful big guy. If he started roughhousing he could -clean the whole office out. He's young Glendon, who won the fight -last night." - -"Very well, then. Bring him in. We don't want the office cleaned out, -you know." - -No greetings were exchanged when Glendon entered. She was as cold and -inhospitable as a gray day, and neither invited him to a chair nor -recognized him with her eyes, sitting half turned away from him at -her desk and waiting for him to state his business. He gave no sign -of how this cavalier treatment affected him, but plunged directly -into his subject. - -"I want to talk to you," he said shortly. "That fight. It did end in -that round." - -She shrugged her shoulders. - -"I knew it would." - -"You didn't," he retorted. "You didn't. I didn't." - -She turned and looked at him with quiet affectation of boredom. - -"What is the use?" she asked. "Prize-fighting is prize-fighting, -and we all know what it means. The fight did end in the round I told -you it would." - -"It did," he agreed. "But you didn't know it would. In all the world -you and I were at least two that knew Powers wouldn't be knocked out -in the sixteenth." - -She remained silent. - -"I say you knew he wouldn't." He spoke peremptorily, and, when -she still declined to speak, stepped nearer to her. "Answer me," -he commanded. - -She nodded her head. - -"But he was," she insisted. - -"He wasn't. He wasn't knocked out at all. Do you get that? I am -going to tell you about it, and you are going to listen. I didn't -lie to you. Do you get that? I didn't lie to you. I was a fool, -and they fooled me, and you along with me. You thought you saw him -knocked out. Yet the blow I struck was not heavy enough. It didn't -hit him in the right place either. He made believe it did. He faked -that knockout." - -He paused and looked at her expectantly. And somehow, with a leap -and thrill, she knew that she believed him, and she felt pervaded by -a warm happiness at the reinstatement of this man who meant nothing -to her and whom she had seen but twice in her life. - -"Well?" he demanded, and she thrilled anew at the compellingness -of him. - -She stood up, and her hand went out to his. - -"I believe you," she said. "And I am glad, most glad." - -It was a longer grip than she had anticipated. He looked at her -with eyes that burned and to which her own unconsciously answered -back. Never was there such a man, was her thought. Her eyes dropped -first, and his followed, so that, as before, both gazed at the clasped -hands. He made a movement of his whole body toward her, impulsive -and involuntary, as if to gather her to him, then checked himself -abruptly, with an unmistakable effort. She saw it, and felt the pull -of his hand as it started to draw her to him. And to her amazement -she felt the desire to yield, the desire almost overwhelmingly to be -drawn into the strong circle of those arms. And had he compelled, -she knew that she would not have refrained. She was almost dizzy, -when he checked himself and with a closing of his fingers that half -crushed hers, dropped her hand, almost flung it from him. - -"God!" he breathed. "You were made for me." - -He turned partly away from her, sweeping his hand to his forehead. She -knew she would hate him forever if he dared one stammered word of -apology or explanation. But he seemed to have the way always of doing -the right thing where she was concerned. She sank into her chair, -and he into another, first drawing it around so as to face her across -the corner of the desk. - -"I spent last night in a Turkish bath," he said. "I sent for an old -broken-down bruiser. He was a friend of my father in the old days. I -knew there couldn't be a thing about the ring he didn't know, and -I made him talk. The funny thing was that it was all I could do to -convince him that I didn't know the things I asked him about. He -called me the babe in the woods. I guess he was right. I was raised -in the woods, and woods is about all I know. - -"Well, I received an education from that old man last night. The ring -is rottener than you told me. It seems everybody connected with it is -crooked. The very supervisors that grant the fight permits graft off -of the promoters; and the promoters, managers, and fighters graft off -of each other and off the public. It's down to a system, in one way, -and on the other hand they're always--do you know what the double -cross is?" (She nodded.) "Well, they don't seem to miss a chance to -give each other the double cross. - -"The stuff that old man told me took my breath away. And here I've been -in the thick of it for several years and knew nothing of it. I was a -real babe in the woods. And yet I can see how I've been fooled. I was -so made that nobody could stop me. I was bound to win, and, thanks -to Stubener, everything crooked was kept away from me. This morning -I cornered Spider Walsh and made him talk. He was my first trainer, -you know, and he followed Stubener's instructions. They kept me in -ignorance. Besides, I didn't herd with the sporting crowd. I spent my -time hunting and fishing and monkeying with cameras and such things. Do -you know what Walsh and Stubener called me between themselves?--the -Virgin. I only learned it this morning from Walsh, and it was like -pulling teeth. And they were right. I was a little innocent lamb. - -"And Stubener was using me for crookedness, too, only I didn't know -it. I can look back now and see how it was worked. But you see, -I wasn't interested enough in the game to be suspicious. I was born -with a good body and a cool head, I was raised in the open, and I was -taught by my father, who knew more about fighting than any man living -or dead. It was too easy. The ring didn't absorb me. There was never -any doubt of the outcome. But I'm done with it now." - -She pointed to the headline announcing his match with Tom Cannam. - -"That's Stubener's work," he explained. "It was programmed months -ago. But I don't care. I'm heading for the mountains. I've quit." - -She glanced at the unfinished interview on the desk and sighed. - -"How lordly men are," she said. "Masters of destiny. They do as -they please--" - -"From what I've heard," he interrupted, "you've done pretty much as you -please. It's one of the things I like about you. And what has struck -me hard from the first was the way you and I understand each other." - -He broke off and looked at her with burning eyes. - -"Well, the ring did one thing for me," he went on. "It made me -acquainted with you. And when you find the one woman, there's just -one thing to do. Take her in your two hands and don't let go. Come on, -let us start for the mountains." - -It had come with the suddenness of a thunder-clap, and yet she -felt that she had been expecting it. Her heart was beating up and -almost choking her in a strangely delicious way. Here at least was -the primitive and the simple with a vengeance. Then, too, it seemed a -dream. Such things did not take place in modern newspaper offices. Love -could not be made in such fashion; it only so occurred on the stage -and in novels. - -He had arisen, and was holding out both hands to her. - -"I don't dare," she said in a whisper, half to herself. "I don't dare." - -And thereat she was stung by the quick contempt that flashed in his -eyes but that swiftly changed to open incredulity. - -"You'd dare anything you wanted," he was saying. "I know that. It's -not a case of dare, but of want. Do you want?" - -She had arisen, and was now swaying as if in a dream. It flashed into -her mind to wonder if it were hypnotism. She wanted to glance about her -at the familiar objects of the room in order to identify herself with -reality, but she could not take her eyes from his. Nor did she speak. - -He had stepped beside her. His hand was on her arm, and she leaned -toward him involuntarily. It was all part of the dream, and it -was no longer hers to question anything. It was the great dare. He -was right. She could dare what she wanted, and she did want. He was -helping her into her jacket. She was thrusting the hat-pins through her -hair. And even as she realized it, she found herself walking beside him -through the opened door. The "Flight of the Duchess" and "The Statue -and the Bust," darted through her mind. Then she remembered "Waring." - -"'What's become of Waring?'" she murmured. - -"'Land travel or sea-faring?'" he murmured back. - -And to her this kindred sufficient note was a vindication of her -madness. - -At the entrance of the building he raised his hand to call a taxi, -but was stopped by her touch on his arm. - -"Where are we going?" she breathed. - -"To the Ferry. We've just time to catch that Sacramento train." - -"But I can't go this way," she protested. "I ... I haven't even a -change of handkerchiefs." - -He held up his hand again before replying. - -"You can shop in Sacramento. We'll get married there and catch the -night overland north. I'll arrange everything by telegraph from -the train." - -As the cab drew to the curb, she looked quickly about her at the -familiar street and the familiar throng, then, with almost a flurry -of alarm, into Glendon's face. - -"I don't know a thing about you," she said. - -"We know everything about each other," was his answer. - -She felt the support and urge of his arms, and lifted her foot to -the step. The next moment the door had closed, he was beside her, and -the cab was heading down Market Street. He passed his arm around her, -drew her close, and kissed her. When next she glimpsed his face she -was certain that it was dyed with a faint blush. - -"I ... I've heard there was an art in kissing," he stammered. "I -don't know anything about it myself, but I'll learn. You see, you're -the first woman I ever kissed." - - - - - - - - - -IX - - -Where a jagged peak of rock thrust above the vast virgin forest, -reclined a man and a woman. Beneath them, on the edge of the trees, -were tethered two horses. Behind each saddle were a pair of small -saddle-bags. The trees were monotonously huge. Towering hundreds -of feet into the air, they ran from eight to ten and twelve feet in -diameter. Many were much larger. All morning they had toiled up the -divide through this unbroken forest, and this peak of rock had been -the first spot where they could get out of the forest in order to -see the forest. - -Beneath them and away, far as they could see, lay range upon range -of haze-empurpled mountains. There was no end to these ranges. They -rose one behind another to the dim, distant skyline, where they faded -away with a vague promise of unending extension beyond. There were -no clearings in the forest; north, south, east, and west, untouched, -unbroken, it covered the land with its mighty growth. - -They lay, feasting their eyes on the sight, her hand clasped in one -of his; for this was their honeymoon, and these were the redwoods -of Mendocino. Across from Shasta they had come, with horses and -saddle-bags, and down through the wilds of the coast counties, and they -had no plan except to continue until some other plan entered their -heads. They were roughly dressed, she in travel-stained khaki, he in -overalls and woolen shirt. The latter was open at the sunburned neck, -and in his hugeness he seemed a fit dweller among the forest giants, -while for her, as a dweller with him, there were no signs of aught -else but happiness. - -"Well, Big Man," she said, propping herself up on an elbow to gaze -at him, "it is more wonderful than you promised. And we are going -through it together." - -"And there's a lot of the rest of the world we'll go through together," -he answered, shifting his position so as to get her hand in both -of his. - -"But not till we've finished with this," she urged. "I seem never to -grow tired of the big woods ... and of you." - -He slid effortlessly into a sitting posture and gathered her into -his arms. - -"Oh, you lover," she whispered. "And I had given up hope of finding -such a one." - -"And I never hoped at all. I must just have known all the time that -I was going to find you. Glad?" - -Her answer was a soft pressure where her hand rested on his neck, -and for long minutes they looked out over the great woods and dreamed. - -"You remember I told you how I ran away from the red-haired school -teacher? That was the first time I saw this country. I was on foot, but -forty or fifty miles a day was play for me. I was a regular Indian. I -wasn't thinking about you then. Game was pretty scarce in the redwoods, -but there was plenty of fine trout. That was when I camped on these -rocks. I didn't dream that some day I'd be back with you, YOU." - -"And be a champion of the ring, too," she suggested. - -"No; I didn't think about that at all. Dad had always told me I was -going to be, and I took it for granted. You see, he was very wise. He -was a great man." - -"But he didn't see you leaving the ring." - -"I don't know. He was so careful in hiding its crookedness from me, -that I think he feared it. I've told you about the contract with -Stubener. Dad put in that clause about crookedness. The first crooked -thing my manager did was to break the contract." - -"And yet you are going to fight this Tom Cannam. Is it worth while?" - -He looked at her quickly. - -"Don't you want me to?" - -"Dear lover, I want you to do whatever you want." - -So she said, and to herself, her words still ringing in her ears, -she marveled that she, not least among the stubbornly independent of -the breed of Sangster, should utter them. Yet she knew they were true, -and she was glad. - -"It will be fun," he said. - -"But I don't understand all the gleeful details." - -"I haven't worked them out yet. You might help me. In the first place -I'm going to double-cross Stubener and the betting syndicate. It -will be part of the joke. I am going to put Cannam out in the -first round. For the first time I shall be really angry when I -fight. Poor Tom Cannam, who's as crooked as the rest, will be the -chief sacrifice. You see, I intend to make a speech in the ring. It's -unusual, but it will be a success, for I am going to tell the -audience all the inside workings of the game. It's a good game, too, -but they're running it on business principles, and that's what spoils -it. But there, I'm giving the speech to you instead of at the ring." - -"I wish I could be there to hear," she said. - -He looked at her and debated. - -"I'd like to have you. But it's sure to be a rough time. There is no -telling what may happen when I start my program. But I'll come straight -to you as soon as it's over. And it will be the last appearance of -Young Glendon in the ring, in any ring." - -"But, dear, you've never made a speech in your life," she -objected. "You might fail." - -He shook his head positively. - -"I'm Irish," he announced, "and what Irishman was there who couldn't -speak?" He paused to laugh merrily. "Stubener thinks I'm crazy. Says a -man can't train on matrimony. A lot he knows about matrimony, or me, -or you, or anything except real estate and fixed fights. But I'll -show him that night, and poor Tom, too. I really feel sorry for Tom." - -"My dear abysmal brute is going to behave most abysmally and brutally, -I fear," she murmured. - -He laughed. - -"I'm going to make a noble attempt at it. Positively my last -appearance, you know. And then it will be you, YOU. But if you don't -want that last appearance, say the word." - -"Of course I want it, Big Man. I want my Big Man for himself, and to -be himself he must be himself. If you want this, I want it for you, -and for myself, too. Suppose I said I wanted to go on the stage, -or to the South Seas or the North Pole?" - -He answered slowly, almost solemnly. - -"Then I'd say go ahead. Because you are you and must be yourself and -do whatever you want. I love you because you are you." - -"And we're both a silly pair of lovers," she said, when his embrace -had relaxed. - -"Isn't it great!" he cried. - -He stood up, measured the sun with his eye, and extended his hand -out over the big woods that covered the serried, purple ranges. - -"We've got to sleep out there somewhere. It's thirty miles to the -nearest camp." - - - - - - - - - -X - - -Who, of all the sports present, will ever forget the memorable night -at the Golden Gate Arena, when Young Glendon put Tom Cannam to sleep -and an even greater one than Tom Cannam, kept the great audience -on the ragged edge of riot for an hour, caused the subsequent graft -investigation of the supervisors and the indictments of the contractors -and the building commissioners, and pretty generally disrupted the -whole fight game. It was a complete surprise. Not even Stubener had -the slightest apprehension of what was coming. It was true that his -man had been insubordinate after the Nat Powers affair, and had run -off and got married; but all that was over. Young Pat had done the -expected, swallowed the inevitable crookedness of the ring, and come -back into it again. - -The Golden Gate Arena was new. This was its first fight, and it was -the biggest building of the kind San Francisco had ever erected. It -seated twenty-five thousand, and every seat was occupied. Sports had -traveled from all the world to be present, and they had paid fifty -dollars for their ring-side seats. The cheapest seat in the house -had sold for five dollars. - -The old familiar roar of applause went up when Billy Morgan, the -veteran announcer, climbed through the ropes and bared his gray -head. As he opened his mouth to speak, a heavy crash came from a near -section where several tiers of low seats had collapsed. The crowd -broke into loud laughter and shouted jocular regrets and advice to -the victims, none of whom had been hurt. The crash of the seats and -the hilarious uproar caused the captain of police in charge to look -at one of his lieutenants and lift his brows in token that they would -have their hands full and a lively night. - -One by one, welcomed by uproarious applause, seven doughty old ring -heroes climbed through the ropes to be introduced. They were all -ex-heavy-weight champions of the world. Billy Morgan accompanied -each presentation to the audience with an appropriate phrase. One was -hailed as "Honest John" and "Old Reliable," another was "the squarest -two-fisted fighter the ring ever saw." And of others: "the hero of a -hundred battles and never threw one and never lay down"; "the gamest -of the old guard"; "the only one who ever came back"; "the greatest -warrior of them all"; and "the hardest nut in the ring to crack." - -All this took time. A speech was insisted on from each of them, and -they mumbled and muttered in reply with proud blushes and awkward -shamblings. The longest speech was from "Old Reliable" and lasted -nearly a minute. Then they had to be photographed. The ring filled up -with celebrities, with champion wrestlers, famous conditioners, and -veteran time-keepers and referees. Light-weights and middle-weights -swarmed. Everybody seemed to be challenging everybody. Nat Powers -was there, demanding a return match from Young Glendon, and so were -all the other shining lights whom Glendon had snuffed out. Also, -they all challenged Jim Hanford, who, in turn, had to make his -statement, which was to the effect that he would accord the next -fight to the winner of the one that was about to take place. The -audience immediately proceeded to name the winner, half of it wildly -crying "Glendon," and the other half "Powers." In the midst of the -pandemonium another tier of seats went down, and half a dozen rows -were on between cheated ticket holders and the stewards who had been -reaping a fat harvest. The captain despatched a message to headquarters -for additional police details. - -The crowd was feeling good. When Cannam and Glendon made their ring -entrances the Arena resembled a national political convention. Each was -cheered for a solid five minutes. The ring was now cleared. Glendon sat -in his corner surrounded by his seconds. As usual, Stubener was at his -back. Cannam was introduced first, and after he had scraped and ducked -his head, he was compelled to respond to the cries for a speech. He -stammered and halted, but managed to grind out several ideas. - -"I'm proud to be here to-night," he said, and found space to capture -another thought while the applause was thundering. "I've fought -square. I've fought square all my life. Nobody can deny that. And -I'm going to do my best to-night." - -There were loud cries of: "That's right, Tom!" "We know that!" "Good -boy, Tom!" "You're the boy to fetch the bacon home!" - -Then came Glendon's turn. From him, likewise, a speech was demanded, -though for principals to give speeches was an unprecedented thing in -the prize-ring. Billy Morgan held up his hand for silence, and in a -clear, powerful voice Glendon began. - -"Everybody has told you they were proud to be here to-night," -he said. "I am not" The audience was startled, and he paused long -enough to let it sink home, "I am not proud of my company. You wanted -a speech. I'll give you a real one. This is my last fight. After -to-night I leave the ring for good. Why? I have already told you. I -don't like my company. The prize-ring is so crooked that no man -engaged in it can hide behind a corkscrew. It is rotten to the core, -from the little professional clubs right up to this affair to-night." - -The low rumble of astonishment that had been rising at this point -burst into a roar. There were loud boos and hisses, and many began -crying: "Go on with the fight!" "We want the fight!" "Why don't you -fight?" Glendon, waiting, noted that the principal disturbers near the -ring were promoters and managers and fighters. In vain did he strive -to make himself heard. The audience was divided, half crying out, -"Fight!" and the other half, "Speech! Speech!" - -Ten minutes of hopeless madness prevailed. Stubener, the referee, the -owner of the Arena, and the promoter of the fight, pleaded with Glendon -to go on with the fight. When he refused, the referee declared that -he would award the fight in forfeit to Cannam if Glendon did not fight. - -"You can't do it," the latter retorted. "I'll sue you in all the -courts if you try that on, and I'll not promise you that you'll -survive this crowd if you cheat it out of the fight. Besides, I'm -going to fight. But before I do I'm going to finish my speech." - -"But it's against the rules," protested the referee. - -"It's nothing of the sort. There's not a word in the rules against -ring-side speeches. Every big fighter here to-night has made a speech." - -"Only a few words," shouted the promoter in Glendon's ear. "But you're -giving a lecture." - -"There's nothing in the rules against lectures," Glendon answered. "And -now you fellows get out of the ring or I'll throw you out." - -The promoter, apoplectic and struggling, was dropped over the ropes by -his coat-collar. He was a large man, but so easily had Glendon done -it with one hand that the audience went wild with delight. The cries -for a speech increased in volume. Stubener and the owner beat a wise -retreat. Glendon held up his hands to be heard, whereupon those that -shouted for the fight redoubled their efforts. Two or three tiers -of seats crashed down, and numbers who had thus lost their places, -added to the turmoil by making a concerted rush to squeeze in on the -still intact seats, while those behind, blocked from sight of the ring, -yelled and raved for them to sit down. - -Glendon walked to the ropes and spoke to the police captain. He was -compelled to bend over and shout in his ear. - -"If I don't give this speech," he said, "this crowd will wreck -the place. If they break loose you can never hold them, you know -that. Now you've got to help. You keep the ring clear and I'll silence -the crowd." - -He went back to the center of the ring and again held up his hands. - -"You want that speech?" he shouted in a tremendous voice. - -Hundreds near the ring heard him and cried "Yes!" - -"Then let every man who wants to hear shut up the noise-maker next -to him!" - -The advice was taken, so that when he repeated it, his voice penetrated -farther. Again and again he shouted it, and slowly, zone by zone, -the silence pressed outward from the ring, accompanied by a muffled -undertone of smacks and thuds and scuffles as the obstreperous -were subdued by their neighbors. Almost had all confusion been -smothered, when a tier of seats near the ring went down. This was -greeted with fresh roars of laughter, which of itself died away, -so that a lone voice, far back, was heard distinctly as it piped: -"Go on, Glendon! We're with you!" - -Glendon had the Celt's intuitive knowledge of the psychology of the -crowd. He knew that what had been a vast disorderly mob five minutes -before was now tightly in hand, and for added effect he deliberately -delayed. Yet the delay was just long enough and not a second too -long. For thirty seconds the silence was complete, and the effect -produced was one of awe. Then, just as the first faint hints of -restlessness came to his ears, he began to speak: - -"When I finish this speech," he said, "I am going to fight. I promise -you it will be a real fight, one of the few real fights you have ever -seen. I am going to get my man in the shortest possible time. Billy -Morgan, in making his final announcement, will tell you that it is -to be a forty-five-round contest. Let me tell you that it will be -nearer forty-five seconds. - -"When I was interrupted I was telling you that the ring was rotten. It -is--from top to bottom. It is run on business principles, and you all -know what business principles are. Enough said. You are the suckers, -every last one of you that is not making anything out of it. Why -are the seats falling down to-night? Graft. Like the fight game, -they were built on business principles." - -He now held the audience stronger than ever, and knew it. - -"There are three men squeezed on two seats. I can see that -everywhere. What does it mean? Graft. The stewards don't get any -wages. They are supposed to graft. Business principles again. You -pay. Of course you pay. How are the fight permits obtained? Graft. And -now let me ask you: if the men who build the seats graft, if the -stewards graft, if the authorities graft, why shouldn't those higher -up in the fight game graft? They do. And you pay. - -"And let me tell you it is not the fault of the fighters. They don't -run the game. The promoters and managers run it; they're the business -men. The fighters are only fighters. They begin honestly enough, but -the managers and promoters make them give in or kick them out. There -have been straight fighters. And there are now a few, but they don't -earn much as a rule. I guess there have been straight managers. Mine -is about the best of the boiling. But just ask him how much he's got -salted down in real estate and apartment houses." - -Here the uproar began to drown his voice. - -"Let every man who wants to hear shut up the man alongside of -him!" Glendon instructed. - -Again, like the murmur of a surf, there was a rustling of smacks, -and thuds, and scuffles, and the house quieted down. - -"Why does every fighter work overtime insisting that he's always -fought square? Why are they called Honest Johns, and Honest Bills, -and Honest Blacksmiths, and all the rest? Doesn't it ever strike you -that they seem to be afraid of something? When a man comes to you -shouting he is honest, you get suspicious. But when a prize-fighter -passes the same dope out to you, you swallow it down. - -"May the best man win! How often have you heard Billy Morgan say -that! Let me tell you that the best man doesn't win so often, and -when he does it's usually arranged for him. Most of the grudge fights -you've heard or seen were arranged, too. It's a program. The whole -thing is programmed. Do you think the promoters and managers are in -it for their health? They're not. They're business men. - -"Tom, Dick, and Harry are three fighters. Dick is the best man. In -two fights he could prove it. But what happens? Tom licks Harry. Dick -licks Tom. Harry licks Dick. Nothing proved. Then come the return -matches. Harry licks Tom. Tom licks Dick. Dick licks Harry. Nothing -proved. Then they try again. Dick is kicking. Says he wants to get -along in the game. So Dick licks Tom, and Dick licks Harry. Eight -fights to prove Dick the best man, when two could have done it. All -arranged. A regular program. And you pay for it, and when your seats -don't break down you get robbed of them by the stewards. - -"It's a good game, too, if it were only square. The fighters would -be square if they had a chance. But the graft is too big. When a -handful of men can divide up three-quarters of a million dollars on -three fights--" - -A wild outburst compelled him to stop. Out of the medley of cries -from all over the house, he could distinguish such as "What million -dollars?" "What three fights?" "Tell us!" "Go on!" Likewise there -were boos and hisses, and cries of "Muckraker! Muckraker!" - -"Do you want to hear?" Glendon shouted. "Then keep order!" - -Once more he compelled the impressive half minute of silence. - -"What is Jim Hanford planning? What is the program his crowd and mine -are framing up? They know I've got him. He knows I've got him. I -can whip him in one fight. But he's the champion of the world. If -I don't give in to the program, they'll never give me a chance to -fight him. The program calls for three fights. I am to win the first -fight. It will be pulled off in Nevada if San Francisco won't stand -for it. We are to make it a good fight. To make it good, each of us -will put up a side bet of twenty thousand. It will be real money, but -it won't be a real bet. Each gets his own slipped back to him. The -same way with the purse. We'll divide it evenly, though the public -division will be thirty-five and sixty-five. The purse, the moving -picture royalties, the advertisements, and all the rest of the drags -won't be a cent less than two hundred and fifty thousand. We'll divide -it, and go to work on the return match. Hanford will win that, and -we divide again. Then comes the third fight; I win as I have every -right to; and we have taken three-quarters of a million out of the -pockets of the fighting public. That's the program, but the money is -dirty. And that's why I am quitting the ring to-night--" - -It was at this moment that Jim Hanford, kicking a clinging policeman -back among the seat-holders, heaved his huge frame through the ropes, -bellowing: - -"It's a lie!" - -He rushed like an infuriated bull at Glendon, who sprang back, -and then, instead of meeting the rush, ducked cleanly away. Unable -to check himself, the big man fetched up against the ropes. Flung -back by the spring of them, he was turning to make another rush, -when Glendon landed him. Glendon, cool, clear-seeing, distanced his -man perfectly to the jaw and struck the first full-strength blow of -his career. All his strength, and his reserve of strength, went into -that one smashing muscular explosion. - -Hanford was dead in the air--in so far as unconsciousness may resemble -death. So far as he was concerned, he ceased at the moment of contact -with Glendon's fist. His feet left the floor and he was in the air -until he struck the topmost rope. His inert body sprawled across it, -sagged at the middle, and fell through the ropes and down out of the -ring upon the heads of the men in the press seats. - -The audience broke loose. It had already seen more than it had paid to -see, for the great Jim Hanford, the world champion, had been knocked -out. It was unofficial, but it had been with a single punch. Never had -there been such a night in fistiana. Glendon looked ruefully at his -damaged knuckles, cast a glance through the ropes to where Hanford -was groggily coming to, and held up his hands. He had clinched his -right to be heard, and the audience grew still. - -"When I began to fight," he said, "they called me 'One-Punch -Glendon.' You saw that punch a moment ago. I always had that punch. I -went after my men and got them on the jump, though I was careful not -to hit with all my might. Then I was educated. My manager told me it -wasn't fair to the crowd. He advised me to make long fights so that -the crowd could get a run for its money. I was a fool, a mutt. I was -a green lad from the mountains. So help me God, I swallowed it as -the truth. My manager used to talk over with me what round I would -put my man out in. Then he tipped it off to the betting syndicate, -and the betting syndicate went to it. Of course you paid. But I am -glad for one thing. I never touched a cent of the money. They didn't -dare offer it to me, because they knew it would give the game away. - -"You remember my fight with Nat Powers. I never knocked him out. I had -got suspicious. So the gang framed it up with him. I didn't know. I -intended to let him go a couple of rounds over the sixteenth. That last -punch in the sixteenth didn't shake him. But he faked the knock-out -just the same and fooled all of you." - -"How about to-night?" a voice called out. "Is it a frame-up?" - -"It is," was Glendon's answer. "How's the syndicate betting? That -Cannam will last to the fourteenth." - -Howls and hoots went up. For the last time Glendon held up his hand -for silence. - -"I'm almost done now. But I want to tell you one thing. The syndicate -gets landed to-night. This is to be a square fight. Tom Cannam won't -last till the fourteenth round. He won't last the first round." - -Cannam sprang to his feet in his corner and cried out in a fury: - -"You can't do it. The man don't live who can get me in one round!" - -Glendon ignored him and went on. - -"Once now in my life I have struck with all my strength. You saw that -a moment ago when I caught Hanford. To-night, for the second time, -I am going to hit with all my strength--that is, if Cannam doesn't -jump through the ropes right now and get away. And now I'm ready." - -He went to his corner and held out his hands for his gloves. In the -opposite corner Cannam raged while his seconds tried vainly to calm -him. At last Billy Morgan managed to make the final announcement. - -"This will be a forty-five round contest," he shouted. "Marquis of -Queensbury Rules! And may the best man win! Let her go!" - -The gong struck. The two men advanced. Glendon's right hand was -extended for the customary shake, but Cannam, with an angry toss of -the head, refused to take it. To the general surprise, he did not -rush. Angry though he was, he fought carefully, his touched pride -impelling him to bend every effort to last out the round. Several -times he struck, but he struck cautiously, never relaxing his -defense. Glendon hunted him about the ring, ever advancing with the -remorseless tap-tap of his left foot. Yet he struck no blows, nor -attempted to strike. He even dropped his hands to his sides and hunted -the other defenselessly in an effort to draw him out. Cannam grinned -defiantly, but declined to take advantage of the proffered opening. - -Two minutes passed, and then a change came over Glendon. By every -muscle, by every line of his face, he advertised that the moment -had come for him to get his man. Acting it was, and it was well -acted. He seemed to have become a thing of steel, as hard and -pitiless as steel. The effect was apparent on Cannam, who redoubled -his caution. Glendon quickly worked him into a corner and herded and -held him there. Still he struck no blow, nor attempted to strike, -and the suspense on Cannam's part grew painful. In vain he tried to -work out of the corner, while he could not summon resolution to rush -upon his opponent in an attempt to gain the respite of a clinch. - -Then it came--a swift series of simple feints that were muscle -flashes. Cannam was dazzled. So was the audience. No two of the -onlookers could agree afterward as to what took place. Cannam ducked -one feint and at the same time threw up his face guard to meet another -feint for his jaw. He also attempted to change position with his -legs. Ring-side witnesses swore that they saw Glendon start the blow -from his right hip and leap forward like a tiger to add the weight -of his body to it. Be that as it may, the blow caught Cannam on the -point of the chin at the moment of his shift of position. And like -Hanford, he was unconscious in the air before he struck the ropes -and fell through on the heads of the reporters. - -Of what happened afterward that night in the Golden Gate Arena, -columns in the newspapers were unable adequately to describe. The -police kept the ring clear, but they could not save the Arena. It was -not a riot. It was an orgy. Not a seat was left standing. All over the -great hall, by main strength, crowding and jostling to lay hands on -beams and boards, the crowd uprooted and over-turned. Prize-fighters -sought protection of the police, but there were not enough police to -escort them out, and fighters, managers, and promoters were beaten -and battered. Jim Hanford alone was spared. His jaw, prodigiously -swollen, earned him this mercy. Outside, when finally driven from the -building, the crowd fell upon a new seven-thousand-dollar motor car -belonging to a well-known fight promoter and reduced it to scrapiron -and kindling wood. - -Glendon, unable to dress amid the wreckage of dressing rooms, gained -his automobile, still in his ring costume and wrapped in a bath robe, -but failed to escape. By weight of numbers the crowd caught and held -his machine. The police were too busy to rescue him, and in the end -a compromise was effected, whereby the car was permitted to proceed -at a walk escorted by five thousand cheering madmen. - -It was midnight when this storm swept past Union Square and down upon -the St. Francis. Cries for a speech went up, and though at the hotel -entrance, Glendon was good-naturedly restrained from escaping. He -even tried leaping out upon the heads of the enthusiasts, but his -feet never touched the pavement. On heads and shoulders, clutched at -and uplifted by every hand that could touch his body, he went back -through the air to the machine. Then he gave his speech, and Maud -Glendon, looking down from an upper window at her young Hercules -towering on the seat of the automobile, knew, as she always knew, -that he meant it when he repeated that he had fought his last fight -and retired from the ring forever. - - - THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Abysmal Brute, by Jack London - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ABYSMAL BRUTE *** - -***** This file should be named 55948-8.txt or 55948-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/9/4/55948/ - -Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project -Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously -made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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