The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

tt r HOKE it, Kid, there ain’t no use Es pulling that cheer-up bunk,” Ed- die Donovan spoke with a heavy frown on his florid face. ‘The fight game’s as dead as a kippered herring, and you know it. I ain’t managed hopes for fifteen years without learning something, and take it from me, Kid, I know a funeral march when [ hear it.”’ , Kid McCarren, trainer and custodian of the West Side Athletic Club, eyed the gob- let of cool beer on the table before him and then looked across the street. “One Round Higgin blew the tire,” sighed the Kid regretfully. ‘“‘He’s too good.” “Now you're handing out the lingo, boy,” replied Donovan, with some show of animation. ‘‘He’s too good and he’s too all fired stuck on himself to lay down. O. R. is the greatest heavyweight champion that ever put on a pair of gloves. There ain’t a man between here and Halleluiah . who’s been able to stand up with him more than a round or two, and the fight bugs are next. “They’ve got tired of slapping down ten or fifteen iron men to see a three-minute tussle, and you can’t get ’°em out any more when O. R. is on the program. They’ll pay to see him work out behind the footlights with a burlesque show, but they don’t want to see him fight because we can’t put up a boy who’ll give ’em a run for their dough. Arnold Hofmann ‘““And take it from me, the bugs study the dope these days. You can’t put over any more of this ‘come back’ stuff. They’re on. They’ve got the record and pedigree of every fighter in the game, and they know none of ’em can dodge O. R.’s terrible right for more than one round. They’ve stood for about a dozen trying it, and now they’re -off. The promoters are frozen stiff and you can’t blame ’em.”’ “Tf we could get O. R, to hand down the belt to somebody else,”” mused the Kid, Donovan bit his cigar savagely. “Or if we could coax Pierrepont Morgan to trade his job for a second-hand store,” he growled through his teeth. “One bet is as good as another. The only thing to do is to get hold of a boy that can put it over wk. ; “Tt can’t be done,” replied the Kid. ‘“There’s nothing to do but wait until O. R. gets old and stale, and that’lf be a long time.” “Longer than I can sit on the bank and wait for the cork to be jerked under,” said Donovan. “I tell you, Kid,” he sighed, with visions of the expensive upkeep of the latest Mrs. Donovan, “it takes money to live.” j With that he lapsed into sombre silence. The Kid partook of a sip of beer without the customary prelude of spilling the foam into the cuspidor, and followed suit. 654 Gomichbook G (C@)