Judge — July 14, 1917 — page 7: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Extract from letter-—Am sending you a box of 50 cigarettes. Will send another in a week or so when those are finished. “H'm. Pretty much battered, aren’t they. Guess you'd better put some more stuffing in them.” “Yes, sir.” “You see, . . . the truth is, Jenkins, I’m not in very good condition right now. Haven't been training for a long time. So I'm not keen for having this little affair unnecessarily strenuous. “Yes, “On the other hand, it’s up to me to make a good showing, ... for the sake of my reputation.” Halligan hesitated a moment, stroking the back of his head. you're in prime shape. It wouldn't hurt you to get around a little, would it?”” “Wot, sir?” “Here, this'll help you to understand what I mean.” He handed him a ten-dollar bill. Jenkins’ face lit up with a grin of intelligence. ‘Thank you, sir. Hi see now, sir. You wants me to let you do hall the bangin’. Very good, sir—so long as you don’t lay hit on a bit too thick. “Oh, don’t worry!” replied Halligan, laughing and clapping him on the back. “You're all right, Jenkins. You're all right.”” As he was m the point of leaving, he said, “Of course, I wouldn't have asked this favor of you if I was in any kind of form. But you see how it is.” Mr. Halligan.” n eager crowd that gathered next day. Nearly every young person in Hillcrest was there. Even Guthrie, the eclipsed, had come. People felt sorry for him. When the spectators were duly assembled, an explosive roar was heard, like that of a battery of rapid-firers, and Halligan’s big red car took the driveway hill by storm, sidewiping hedges and sending volleys of pebbles over the lawns. Attired in immaculate flannel trousers and a sleeveless jersey that was emblazoned with his college letter, Big Bill stepped down like a god out of a chariot; his face flushed with the glory of the occasion and a few highballs he had taken as bracers. A deputation of admiring boys escorted him to the ring, where he was greeted with much clapping and his manly shoulders commented on in whispered ejaculations. Guthrie clapped louder than anyone else. Big Bill felt that this was the triumphant moment of his life. When, leaning over to the Queen of Love and Beauty who sat at the ringside, he said, ‘Hold my watch, will you, Peggy?”’—there was a tone of possession which indicated to all present that she was the lady of his choice. Her mother, whom society editors styled “‘an ardent sportswoman,” beamed through her lorgnettes approvingly. Jenkins was ready. Clad in stable togs, he sat stolidly waiting. The two pugilists now shook gloves in the middle of the ring, and the bout began. Halligan sailed in with a vim, raining punches and jabs that made the onlookers cheer. Poor Jenkins appeared hard put to it. He set his teeth and parried doggedly. As the enthusiasm of the spectators increased, Big Bill swung more and more violently, till he began to grow winded. Jenkins gave a quick glance at Guthrie. The latter appeared too absorbed to notice it. , when Big’ Bill was puffing audibly, Jenkins glanced his time Guthrie unostentatiously crossed his legs. Whereupon a very strange thing happened. The helpless