The Argosy, August 1914 — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

86 heard of—that is, of course you have fought, but I am trying to forget that. Think of it, Jack—think of the old Follansby name, of your father and mother, God bless them, of—’’ “It was my father who taught me the first principles of sparring,” the youth reminded him. “Yes, yes, I know. But that was different. Your father, perhaps, would have been alive to-day if he hadn't gone in so much for athletics. [ al- ways did say too much exercise would break down the finest constitution.” “ Still, he was killed in a railroad accident. But never mind. I want to hear what Sam has to say. IJ thought you had signed Butch Horlock for that match, Sam? ”’ The elder Follansby subsided, but with a scowl of protest. He looked insufferably bored as well as angry. “Should I take a second-rater if I could get a first-class fighter? ’’ Levine retorted in his best style of argument. “ Didn’t I see you and Butch Sunday? As [I told you coming over, you are not so fast as you were, but two weeks with a trainer will bring you back. You are stronger, and you are at weight. I guess it—” Jack nodded that his guess was right. “But Butch?” he reminded. “ Butch is not matched. There were reasons why I left it open to the last minute. Him I never liked. He has courage, yes, and he is a pretty good fighter without brains. Besides, he 1s a crook, and a crook is never a first- class fighter.” “Why do you say he is a crook?” Jack asked. “Didn’t he dope you?” said Sam. “ He wanted to be sure to win. You didn’t know about that, did you?” “Of course I did. But how did you find out?” “ Vesta Dawn,’ Sam replied. ‘If you knew, why didn’t you say so?”’ “ Because—well, I wasn’t dead sure just then. And I wouldn’t have put up a squeal if I had been.” “So I says,” Sam resumed as if interrupted. THE ARGOSY. there had been no interlude, “ that if he was crooked in one fight, might be he would try it again and get me also in bad. I took him because I could find no better, and Reilly's manager promised me a fight.” “And you mean—” “That if you will fight you shall have a chance at the champion.” ‘“ Preposterous! Out of the ques- tion!’ snorted Lawrence Follansby. Jack rose from his chair and stretched out his arms. The thought of battle shot a thrill to his very fin- ger tips. Your true fighting man never loses his appetite for physical encoun- ter, chest to chest and eye to eye. Just so the race-horse delights to match his strength and fleetness on the track; the football-player associates with crisp autumn days the smell of sweat-soaked moleskins and creak of straining bodies. Pride in courage, strength and skill—that is all. “Butch Horlock give out that you had a yeller streak, Jack,’ said Sam insinuatingly. “A yellow streak? so since Sunday?” “Your reputation was clean up to that fight with him,’’ Sam added. “ Reputation! ”’ Uncle Lawrie thought it time to assert himself. “The reputation which comes from being pounded to a jelly, or pounding somebody else! Associating with .a lot of pluguglies “They’re not, Uncle Lawrie,” Jack “Most of them are very decent fellows. They have to be to stay in the game. Dissipation and prize-fighting don’t mix. I ought to know.” “Your remarks do not at all tally with my information,” said the older man. “IJ am informed by my friends at the club that fighters are a low, vul- gar lot of men who are always intoxi- cated when not in the ring, and fre- quently when they are. But that is neither here nor there. I shall not give my consent to any such plan as Mr. Levine proposes.” Does he think COnmiclboooks (E@)