The Argosy, August 1914 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

NOBODY LOVES A LOSER. He broke away from the crowd as soon as the courtesies permitted. He wanted to get by himself somewhere to take stock of his happiness. It was a great thing to have won this fight. He had sufficient excuse for feeling pleased with himself. What a wonderful world this was, where matters turned out to one’s desire! | His ring record was clean once more —clean and crowned by an action of: unparalleled magnanimity. He could now go to Jessica with that mean sense of unworthiness washed from his con- — science. She should know him henceforth as John Garrett Follansby, not as Jack Garrett. No matter what his uncle said, he was as much a Follansby as the head of the house. He did wish, however, that the old man might have taken his own view of the demands of a delicate situation. But even that pebble in his shoe would be unfelt when he was with Jes- sica again. He must wait a couple of days for the marks of battle to disap- pear, meanwhile permitting the doctor and massage artists to toy with his lame shoulder. ‘Then for New Galilee and Jess. By the way, he had forgotten to send her the wire he promised. He was al- most out of the building, on his way to a telegraph-office, before he remem- bered that a caller awaited him in his dressing-room. Turning back, he met Mac outside the door. “Ts the old party here, Mac?” he asked. ‘‘ Run and get me a telegraph blank.” 2 “Sure,” Mac replied indefinitely, and vanished. Jack opened the door and found him- self confronting his uncle. “ Jack, you scoundrel, what do you mean by keeping me waiting in this vile-smelling, cooped-up hole?” Law- rence Follansby demanded in a testy manner. ‘ Didn’t they tell you I was waiting?” 103 ‘“T’m awfully sorry; Uncle Lawrie,” Jack replied, reaching out his sound hand. ‘‘ They told me there was a—a gentleman here, but Mac didn’t say who it was.” ‘“ Well, well, my boy, to think of you a champion!’ the other exclaimed. There was pride in his accents and bearing. “I never realized before what fine exhibitions of science “and courage these—er—affairs were.” “WK , were you there,, uncle?” asked Jack, surprised. “There! Of course I was there, Our good friend Levine sent me a com- plimentary ticket. “At first I thought I would hunt him down and throw the fragments of the thing in his face. Then it occurred to me I ought to see the debasing spec- tacle for myself. Jack, you did your- self proud. How you did pound that low-browed ruffan! And now you're champion, eh?” “No, I’m not champion, uncle,” said Jack: quietly. “You're not? do you mean? ”’ “TPve given the title back to the man that deserves it. LDve fought my last ring fight.” Se: His uncle stared at him lously. “[ don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he said. “It’s very simple, Uncle Lawrie,” Jack declared. “I fought to-night to square my record with the ring and with Sam -Levine — most of all, with myself. The last time I fought, as you know, I was beaten. It was my own fault. I hadn’t kept training. “ When this opportunity came to re- trieve that fault, I owed it to myself to accept it. I lived up to the canons of the game by keeping in condition and by putting up a square fight. Now I’m free to take up another line of work without the disgrace of that old defeat as a drag. Do you understand? ” His uncle reflected. Perhaps under- standing came. Be that as it may, he expressed his satisfaction. Why—why—what incredu- COMMICLOOOKS (C@)