Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

ACTION! There was no delay in the boy’s response. Like’ an automaton, his arms flung out; and, cleverly ducking a right hook, he pinioned the other’s arms. “Lean on him! Don’t let him lean on you! That’s good!” The faces of the spectators displayed an interest that was clearly not feigned. ‘ Break!” With a sudden effort of the larger fighter, the clinch ‘ended, and the other boy danced away to his corner. ‘“ Ten seconds left, Jimmy! Let him have Fast!” Again the boy bored in, shooting lefts and rights, not wildly, but with the skill born of aptitude and endeavor. 7 From the ringside seats on the left a man in a gray suit half rose, as if to cheer, and then dropped back again. “‘ Mix it harder!’’ There was no disobey- ing the bidding of that Voice. The boy swung his right, landing solidly, in spite of the upraised shoulder, on the other’s cheek. His heavier opponent stag- _gered; then, dropping his head, rushed dog- gedly forward as the gong clanged. | While the seconds rushed to their work, the instructions continued, sharply, compel- - it! lingly: ‘ Look out for that chair! . Keep those fans waving! Sponge out his mouth, Murphy!” _ As the spectators settled in their chairs; -a confused murmur rose from the ringside, mingled with scattering applause. It was exactly as though this were a real glove battle. “Never mind the talking!’ It was the vibrant voice again. “‘ Whisper what you have to say! They’ve got to hear me?” Back-stage an idle camera man nodded approvingly. “Tl say Lawrence Briscoe is staging a . regular fight. It may be ‘ movie stuff,’ but -he hasn’t missed a detail of the real thing.” His companion agreed. “ It’s just a bit, but that’s Briscoe’s way. Does a thing per- fectly, or doesn’t do it at all. He’s worth every cent the Beautycraft Film Company pays him.” “You bet he is,” said the cynical camera- man. “If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be here. There’s no sentiment in this outfit. Jump- Digitized by Go ogle 361 ing cranberries! how’d you like to be work- ing under that light inferno?” From his platform, megaphone to mouth, Director Briscoe continued to snap out: his crisp orders. ‘““ Remember, this is the last round. Vance, it’s the battle of your soul they’re fighting in that ring; show it. When Jimmy is down, you stand up in your ring- side seat—all the way, and ‘keep standing up till the fight ends. Remember, Jimmy, that knockdown comes when you are with- in five feet of Vance. Then follow every- thing I say. Peterson, those lights aren’t loose, are they? All right. Ready? Ac- tion! Camera!” -Clang! Through the ropes the seconds scrambled, lugging with them their paraphernalia. “Meet him, Jimmy! Beat him to the middle of the ring! You're going to finish him this time!” Leaning forward, the spectators stiffened for the dramatic finish. It was prearranged; they knew exactly how it was coming out; yet, in spite of this fact, they could not help paying an unconscious ‘tribute to the work of the director. “Stand up to him, Jimmy! You know yow’re going to win! Vance, remember this fight is the turning point in your life. It’s symbolic. If Jimmy isn’t licked, you’re not licked. If he wins, you’re going up against your own big odds with inspired courage. Show it—show it with your expression, your. S shoulders, your hands, your whole taut body! 9) Slamming and battering, the two fighters stood toe to toe. The sweat generated by the scorching lights overhead rolled from their sleek bodies The heavier opponent was gasping. “Clinch again!” Briscoe’s curt order crackled like a wireless spark. His voice had the quality of the dynamo that gave energy to the lights. — “Break them, referee!. Back,- Jimmy! You're half out of your chair, Vance! No, a little higher!” Throwing his megaphone behind him, the director jumped lightly from the platform and ran down the aisle, just out of range of the camera. 1NOO Original from THE OHIO STATE UNWS y, = S C@