THE IRON MAN.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19240, 29 November 1930, Page 19 (Supplement)

THE IRON MAN.

vy

W. R. Burnett.

Y Copyright.)

mm is®©® is as® a®®©®®®®®® CHAPTER XLIII (Continued). “Shut up,” said Coke. lie looked at each of them in turn. “Listen, you guys, you might just as well cut out this arguing, because* I'm gonna fight to suit myself. What the hell do you birds know about it, anyway! This is all just so much wind. I’m going in there and lick this Irishman to a standstill. If it takes two rounds, all right, and if it takes ten, all right. Now get this through your heads: I’m running this show and I’ll fight to suit myself ” They all sat looking at Coke: Ruby Hall sulking, Jeff stupefied, Jimmy Pappas hurt, and Lewis indifferent. “Well," said Lewis, “you’re the champion and you ought to know your busiWhen the meeting broke up, Lewis shook hands all around, handed out twenty-five cent cigars, and went out. Ruby Hall sat sulking: but Jeff and Jimmy followed Coke out into the backand sat with him. Coke said nothing. Jimmy took out his mouth organ and began to play; Jeff tried to sing, but was afraid of annoying Coke by singing loudly, so he compromised by muttering. After a while, Ruby Hall joined them. CHAPTER XLIY. Coke sat in his street clothes with his kpees apart and his forearms resting on his thighs. He felt tired. Beyond the dressing room he heard the clamour of the crowd. Jeff was sitting across from him, getting the bandages ready, and Jimmy Pappas, nearly unnerved, was walking up and down smoking a big cigar. Tim Morgan put his head in the door. “Hello, champ,” he said, grinning. “Great crowd. We’re gonna turn away a couple of thousand. Better get your duds on. I don't think either one of these next bouts are gonna go the limit.” “I got plenty of time,” said Coke, yawning and stretching. Tim withdrew his head and shut the door. Coke got to his feet, hesitated, then sank back on his chair. “What’s the matter, champ?” Jimmy anxiously inquired. “Nothing!” shouted Coke. Jeff and Jimmy exchanged a glance, then Jeff went on unwrapping and rewrapping the bandages, and Jimmy paced up and down. “Listen, Jimmy,” said Coke, finally, “throw that cigar away and sit down. You’re getting on my nerves.” “0.K., champ,” said Jimmy, stamping out the cigar and sitting down. Coke got up and began to undress slowly. “Hell, it’s cold in here,” he said, as he pulled off his shirt. “Cold,” said Jimmy. “I’m sweating.” “You would be,” said Coke. “But I’m cold.” There was a prolonged roar from the crowd, and the walls of the dressingroom vibrated slightly. Coke thought of Chicago and the Prince Pearl go. He fell back into his chair, half-undressed. “I don’t know what makes me so tired,” he said. Jimmy looked at Jeff, who glanced at Coke; neither of them spoke. “Hell,” Coke exclaimed, leaping to his feet and stripping off his clothes. “I got to snap into it, or it'll take me five rounds to lick that dub.” This was bra\*ado, and Jimmy knew it; but he was relieved all the same. Jeff went on with his work. Coke got into his togs and stood in the of the dressing-room working his arms like piston?; then he shadow-boxed for a moment. “All right, Jeff,” he said. Jeff put the bandages aside and Coke climbed on the table and lay down. Jimmy got up and began to pace the floor again, but remembering what Coke had said, he sat down and flexed his fingers. Coke lay quiet with his eyes closed, while Jeff lightly massaged his muscles. Lewis came in, looked down at him, and said: “0.K.?” Coke nodded and Lewis went out. “Hell of a manager he is,” said Coke. Nobod}' said anything. Coke wanted Regan. He lay there worrying about the fight, wondering what would be the best thing to do. Should he try to hook O’Keefe to hell and back during the first few rounds, like he had Larsen, or shouldhe hold off, stall, like he had done against Prince Pearly and wait for a perfect opening? Should he give O’Keefe all he had with his right or should he wait till he was tiring? What made his legs feel so funny? And why did he feel slightly sick at his stomach? Maybe he had eaten some bum food; maybe somebody had put something in it. He had'heard of that. He lay there worrying: at one moment anxious for the fight to begin, then fearing it would begin before his legs began to feel normal. “Feeling 0.K., champ?” Jeff inquired. “Yeah,” said Coke. “Give my legs a good rub.” He felt alone. Jeff was faithful and hardworking and dependable, but dumb. Jimmy was excitable and nervous. Coke had the full responsibility J for the conduct of the light. Jimmy, as chief second, wouldn't be able to help j him any. The best thing he could do was to rush inside O’Keefe’s left and; murder him. If he could hit him with half a dozen hooks squarely, he’d have him. But how would O’Keefe fight? Some stalling way, you could bet, with Regan managing him. Coke wanted to confide in somebody, to ask advice, at the very least to talk the fight over; even that would have been some relief.

as gk is I*l m mmm©® ®m m m ffl ®® ® m But he said nothing and lay with his eyes closed, while Jeff rubbed him. There was a prolonged roar from the crowd. Joe Rogers came in. “Ruby won by a knock-out,” he said. Coke sighed and envied Ruby Hall. He was all through for the evening, and could go back to his dressing-room with not a thing on his mind except, maybe, a good steak and a of beer. Or else he could get his clothes on and sit. without a worry, watching the other boys in the ring. “How you feeling, champ?” Joe i»* quired. “OK.” “All right,” said Jeff, tapping Coke om. the shoulder. Coke got up and put on a sweater and a bathrol>e, as Regan had alway# made him do. Then he sat on the rubbing-table, swinging his feet. In a few minutes Regan came in to watch Jeff put on the bandages, while Jimmy; went to O’Keefe’s dressing-room, to watch M’Neil. Regan was drunk, had a two-day beard, and looked haggard. “Hello, George,” said Coke. “Hello, Coke," said Regan. “They tell me you're in A-one condition.” “Yeah,” said Coke; “I had trouble with my weight, but I’m all set now." “Well,” said Regan, “a pound more would have cost you. You better try the light-heavy class after the Rattler gets through with you.” “I been thinking about it,” said Cokei “Yeah,” said Regan; “you can lick anybody, in that division with the right kind of management—unless O’Keefe tries it. He had trouble with his weight himself. He’s got big bones. lie ain’t like you.” “I can lick O’Keefe and not half try,** said Coke. “That’s what the wise money says,** said Regan. “But the wise money ain’t always right. Riley’s betting on O’Keefe.” Coke got red in the face. “Shut up.’* he said. “Don’t try none of your tricks on me.” Jeff looked at Regan, who, to Jeff’s astonishment, said nothing. When the bandages were wrapped and O.K.’d, Regan gave Jeff a push and'said: “Beat it and take the light-weight with you. I got private business with the champion.” “It won’t look good, George,” said Jeff. “The hell with that,” said Regan. “Beat it. I don’t care where Rogers goes, but you stay outside the door, Jeff, and don’t let nobody in.” “I don’t like it,” said Jeff. Coke hesitated, then said: “All right, Jeff. Do what Georg# tells you.” Jeff and Rogers went out. Regas waited until the door was closed, then he pulled up a chair opposite Coke and sat down. “Get it over, George,” said Coke. “W® ain’t got all night.” Regan took a blackjack out of his liip pocket, put the leather loop around his wrist, and sat tapping the leg erf his chair with it. “Coke,” he said, “I got something I want to tell you that you won’t like. You’re a pretty hot-headed guy in some ways and pretty husky, so I ain’t taking no chances.” He held up the blackjack. “See this? That ain’t just a bluff. You get funny with me before I get through with my story, and I'll put you out before O’Keefe does.” Coke stared at Regan. He noticed that Regan’s eyes were unsteady and that his hands were shaking. “George,” he said, “you’re drunk, that’s what’s the matter with you. You. better put that jack away and go lay down someplace.” Regan laughed. “Well,” he said, “I paid enough for; this jag; I better be drunk. Boy, them bootleggers cut liquor something awftd in New York. Worse than Chicago.” Coke sat looking at Regan, who kept tapping the blackjack against the leg of the chair. “Coke,” he said, “remember the time we had that little argument down at The Viennese and you beat me to it with a one-two punch?” “Yeah,” said Coke. “George, I’m sorry. . . .” “Wait a minute,” Regan interposed. “I don’t give a damn about you being sorry. That don’t help you none. Listen, Coke. Remember what caused that fracas?” “Yeah,” said Coke. “You was shooting off your mouth about the missus.” “All right,” said Regan. “Get all set, because you’re gonna hear some more of it.” Coke flushed and jumped down from the rubbing-table. Regan got hastily to his feet and stood waiting for Coke to rush him, the blackjack set. But Coke didn’t rush him; he stood looking at him. “What’s the idea. George?” he demanded, wearily. “Are you trying tm get me all upset so maybe O’Keefe’H have a chance to get a draw?” Regan laughed and took a letter out of his pocket. -j “Take a look at this,” he said. Coke took the letter and tried to read it- but the writing was so peculiar that he could only make out a word or two. He turned to the last page and looked at the signature. It read? “yours truly, Louise Lewis.” “I can’t read this stuff, George,” he said. “Why don’t you wait till the fight?” i Regan laughed. “My God, but you’re dumb,” he said,