The Argosy, Vol. 81, No. 4 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

NERVE. he would bring his famous solar plexus into play and follow it up with a terrific upper- cut to the jaw. The combination never failed. But the mighty Higgin was fond of money. He needed a lot of it for his auto- mobiles, his hotel bills, his lavish entertain- ments, diamonds, flashy clothes and end- less extravagances, and if he could make his fortune without compromising his one round reputation, which he prized above all else in the world, he was more than willing to accept the offer. So the match was ar- ranged. As to what might happen to Tobias Brewer a second or so after the initial gong _ sounded, that was not concerning Donovan. _ He was not counting on Brewer’s fighting ability, but on the chances that the novelty of the thing would appeal to the sporting blood of the public. Donovan was ‘not developing a cham- pion; he was trying to make money. He was staging a trick that he could not hope to engineer a second time if it succeeded once, which was not at all certain. But Donovan in his enthusiasm never considered failure, and laid his plans with the broad vision and thoroughness of a Na- poleon. “From now on,” he told Tobias Brewer, “vour name isn’t Tobias Brewer, get me? Nobody wants to see a fellow fight with a name like that. Just forget it. You’ve never heard it. See? From now on your name is Jim Fist, the Arkansaw Mountain Lion. Fist is a great name for a fighter, and it ain’t overworked. It’ll appeal to the fans. They won’t forget it. And remember you’ve pummeled the tar out of every bully in the State with one hand tied behind you. Get mee” . “Seems to me as that’s goin’ a little strong,” interposed Brewer. ‘I did useta lick every lad in school, though, now that I come to think on it. One feller in par- ticular, he was that—” “Well, just remember those kids have erown up now,” interrupted » Donovan. “VYou’ve licked ’em all, Get me? But the best stunt is for you to keep your mouth locked. o as little talking as you can. If you have to spout at all, spout big. Are you on?” “All right,” said the newly christened Mountain Lion dubiously. “I had them there kids buffaloed, but I'll tell it dif- ferent.” Then after a thoughtful pause: 6A 657 “Say, by the way, who am I a-goin’ to fight, anyhow?” Donovan stroked his chin. ‘We'll find somebody when the time comes,” he answered evasively. ‘Don’t you worry about that. What we’re after now is to get you before the public.” Donovan’s instructions to the Kid— promises of riches having effected a recon- ciliation whereby the Kid became the Mountain Lion’s body-guard, trainer and watch-dog—were more specific. , Now before we spring this thing in the papers,” he began, ‘“‘we’re going to set up our training camp in some quiet little suburban place with plenty of the old homestead atmosphere. Besides training him for all you’ve got, your job will be to watch that boob like a hawk every minute in the day and night. Don’t let him talk to anybody that’s not in on this, and if you want to live to tell about it, ‘for the love of Mike don’t let him get hold of a newspaper. ‘The jig’s up if he does. Put that down in red ink, Kid. “Tm afraid of him. If he ever finds out that he’s slated to face One Round Higgin he’ll beat it out of here so fast he’ll drown himself crossing the Panama Canal before we can nab him. We can’t let him get wise on who he’s going to fight until he sees him in the ring. After that it’s his own lookout. We’ve got the money. At that, the boob may not know O. R. when he sees him.”’ “T guess you know what you’re pulling off,” sighed the Kid, “but I’d like to give you a tip before I buy the flowers. That poor Arkansas bum will never make a fighter in a thousand years. He’s got the looks—I’ll hand you that—but you ought to see him when he’s working out. No speed, no control, a pile-driver punch that can’t land, the footwork of a lame ele- phant, and gets mad when you hit him. It’s hopeless, I tell you.” Donovan laughed. “Cleaned you up in pretty good shape, didn’t he?” “That’s right, rub it in,” growled the Kid. “I wasn’t looking for-it that day, that’s all. I could lay him out with my lamps shut and pins tied now.” “Just leave it to me,” Donovan reas- sured him. “You do your part and I’ll do mine. If we can put it over on the sport writers we’re all right, and I’ve got a plan that will do it.” As soon as the Mountain Lion had fa- miliarized himself sufficiently with the (EO) VOO]KS MMUG (C@