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PAINT
THAT IS
ALL PAINT
Properly Applied Will Last
a Lifetime.
THAT’S US
C. A. Furney
Progressive Painter and
Paper Placer.
DOUGLAS, GA.
me
Abysmal
Brute
V *
By JACK LONDON
* 9
CoyyrlKht, 1913, by The Century Co.
PROLOGUE.
Few authors living today have
the force and directness, the
rugged strength and vitality of
style of Jack London. This new
novel is one of his best. It is a
story of the prize ring, a real
man's story, big and vigorous
and thrilling. Behind the tense
life, the excitement of the fight
itself, one can see in reading
it the crookedness, the devious
ways of the keen wilted men who
stage the big fight and reap the
prof its. More than this, one can
see into the soul of the Abys
mal Brute himself, one of the
strangest, most human and fas
cinating characters London has
ever drawn, a bruiser who is a
scholar as well, who is honest
and clean and innocent up to
the moment of his disillusion
ment —a veritable cross section
of a strange phase of American
life. .
CHAPTER 1.
SAM STUBKNKH ran through his
mail carelessly and rapidly. As |
became a manager of prize j
fighters, he was accustomed to i
a various and bizarre correspondence.
Every crank, sport, near sport and re
former seemed to have ideas to Impart
to him
From dire threats against his life to
milder threats, such as pushing in the
front of his face, from rabbit foot
fetishes to Micky horseshoes, from
dinky jerkwater bids to the quarter of
a million offers of irresponsible uobod
ies he knew the whole run of the sur
prise portiou of his mail In his time
having received a razor strop made
from the skin of a lynched negro and
a finger, withered and sun dried, cut
from the body of a white man found
In Death valley, he was of the opinion
that never again would the postman
bring him anything That could startle
him.
Hut this morning he opened a letter
that he read a second time, put away
lii tiis pocket and took out for a third
reading. It was postmarked from some
unheard of postolfice in Siskiyou coun
ty. and it ran:
Pear Sam—You don’t know me. except
my reputation. You come after my time, j
and I ve been out of the game a long time j
Bdt. take It from me. 1 ain’t been asleep.
I've followed the whole game, and I’ve
followed you from the time Kal Aufman ■
knocked you out of your last handling of
Nat Belson. and I take It you’re the nifti
est thing In the line of managers that ever
came down the pike
1 got a proposition for you. 1 got the
greatest unknown that ever happened
This ain’t con. It's the straight goods
What do you think of a husky that tips
the scales at 2L“O pounds fighting weight,
is twenty-two years old and can hit a
kick twice as hard as my best ever?
That's him. my boy. Young Pat Glendon.
that’s the name he'll fight under. I’ve
planned It all out. Now. the best thing
you can do Is hit the first train and come
up here.
1 bred him, and I trained him. All that
1 ever had In my head I've hammered into
his. And maybe you won't believe It. but
he's added to It He’s a born fighter He’s
a wonder at time and distance He just
knows to the second and the inch, and
he don’t have to think about it at all.
Mis six Inch jolt is more the real sleep
medicine than the full arm swing of most
geezers
Talk about the hope of the white race.
This is him. Come and take a peep
When you was managing Jeffries you
was crazy about hunting
Come along and I'll give you some res'
hunting and fishing that will make your
moving picture winnings look like 30 cents.
I'll send Young Pat out with you I ain't
able to get around That's why I'm send
ing for you
1 was goir.- to manage him myself, but
It ain’t no » I’m all in and likely to
pass out any time So get a move on. 1
want you to manage him. There’s a for
tune In it for both of you. but 1 want to
draw up the contract. Yours truly.
PAT GLENDON.
Stubener was puzzled. It seemed.
| on the face of it, a joke— the men in
ihe fighting game were notorious jok
ers—and lie tried to discern the fine
hand of Corbett or the big friendly
[iaw of Fitzsimmons in the screed be
fore him. But if it were genuine, he
knew*it was worth looking Into.
Pat Glendou was before his time,
though, as a cub, he had once seen
Old Pat spar at the benefit lor Jack
Dempsey. Even then tie was called
| "Old'' Pat and had been out of the
i ring for years. lie had antedated Sul
livan in the old Loudon prize ring
rules, though his last fading battles
had been put up under tlie incoming
Marquis of Queens berry rules.
What ring follower did not know of
Pat Glendou?—though few were alive
who had seen him in ids prime, and
there were not many more who had
seen him at all.
Yet his name had come down in the
history of the ring, and no sporting
writer's lexicon was complete without
it. IBs lame was paradoxical.
No mail was honored higher, and
yet he had never attained champion
ship honors. He had been unfortunate
and had been known as the unlucky
fighter.
Four times lie all but won tbe heavy
weight championship, and each time he
had deserved to win it. There was
the time on the barge, in San Fran
cisco bay. when, at the moment tie
had tlie championship going, he snap
ped his own forearm, and on the is
land in the Thames, sloshing about in
six inches of rising tide, he broke a
ieg at a similar stage in a winning
fight In Texas, too. there was the
never to lie forgotten day when the
police broke in just as he had tiis man
going in ail certainty.
And finally, there was the fight in
the Mechanics' pavilion in San Fran
cisco. when lie was secretly Jobbed
from tlie first by a gun fighting bad
man of a referee backed by a small
syndicate of bettors. Pat Glendou had
had no accidents in that fight, hut
when he had knocked his man cold
with a right to the ,ia\i and a left to
the solar plexus, the referee calmly
disqualified him for fouling Every
ringside witness, every sporting ex
pert, and tlie whole sporting world
knew there had beer, no foul
Yet. like all fighters. Pat Glendou
had agreed to abide by the decision of
the referee Pat abided and accepted it
as in keeping with the rest of his bad
luck.
Tills was Pat Glendou What both
ered Stubener was whether or not Pat
had written the letter He carried it
downtown with him.
“What's become of Pat Glendou?"
' Such was Ills greeting to all sjwrts
tliut morning Nobody seemed to know
i Some thought lie must tie dead, but
! none knew positively The fight editor
| of a morning daily looked up the rec
ords and was able to state that bis
death had not been noted It was from
Tim Donovan that he got a clew
“Sure an' he ain't dead." said Dono
van. "How could that be—a man of
his make that never boozed or blew
himself? He made money and. what's
more, he saved it and invested it.
Didn't he have three saloons at one
time? An* wasn’t lie makin' slathers
| of money with them when he sold out?
“Now that I'm thinkiu'. that was. the
COFFEE COUNTY PROGRESS, DOUGLAS, GEORGIA.
=JACK LONDON, AUTHOR OF=
The Abysmal Brute
I . ’ '
uist time T laid eyes on iiitn—when he
sold them out. T was all of twenty
years and more ago. Ills wife had just
died. I met him headin' for the ferry.
•Where away, old sport?’ says I. ‘lt’s
me for the woods,' says he. ‘l’ve quit,
tfioodby. Tim, me boy.’ And I’ve never
seen him from that day to this. Of
course he ain’t dead.”
‘‘You say when his wife died—did he
have any children?” Stubener queried.
‘‘One, a little baby. He was luggin’
it in bis arms that very day,”
"Was it a boy?”
“How should 1 be knowin’?”
It was then that Sam Stubener
I ■
P
CbCb o CJC.V 2
The Fight Editor Was Able to State
That his Death Had Not Been Noted.
reached a decision, and that night
found him in a Pullman speeding to
ward the wilds of northern California
Stubener was dropped otT the over
land at Deer Lick in the early morn
ing. and he kicked his heels for an
hour before the saloon opened its
doors
No. the saloon keeper didn't know ;
anything about Pat Gleiulon. had nev j
er heard of him. and if he was in that
part of the country he must be out
beyond somewhere Neither had the
•me hanger on ever heard of Pat Glen
don
At the hotel the same ignorance ob
tained. and it was not until the store
keeper and postmaster opened up that
Stubener struck the trail. Oh. yes;
Pat Glendon lived out beyond. You :
took the stage at Alpine, which was
forty miles and which was a logging j
camp. From Alpine, on horseback,
you rode up Antelope valley cross
ed tile divide to Hear creek Pat
Glendon lived somewhere beyond that
The people of Alpine would know.
Yes. there was a young Pat. The
storekeeper h;id seen him He had
been into Peer Lick two years back.
Old Pat had not put in an appearance !
for five years He bought his supplies \
at the store and always paid by check,
and he was a white haired strange old
man. That was ail the storekeeper
knew, but the folks at Alpine could
give him final directions.
It looked good to Stubener Beyond
doubt there was a voting Pat Glen
don. as well its an old one. living out
lieyonn.
That night the manager spent at the
logging camp of Alpine, and early the
following morning he rode a moun
tain cayuse up Antelope valley. He
till
g? rb * * cNs-x
“Jeffries could ’a’ worried the young un
a bit.”
rode over the divide and down Bear
creek. He rode ai! day through the
wildest, roughest country he had ever
seen, and at sunset turned up Pinto
valley on a trail so stiff and narrow
t.liat more than once he elected to get
off and walk.
It was 11 o'clock when he dismount
ed before a log cabin and was greeted
by the baying of two huge deerhounds.
Then Pat Glendou opened the door, fell
on his neck and took him in.
"I knew ye'd come, Sam. me boy."
said PaL the while lie limped about,
building a lire, boiling coffee and fry
ing a bear steak. "The youug un ain't
home the night. We was gettiu' short
of meat, and he went out about sun
down to pick up a deer But I'll say
no more. Wait till ye see him He'll
he home in the morn, and then you can
try him out. There's ihe gloves. But
wait till ye see him
"As for me. I'm finished Eighty-one
come next January an' pretty good for
an ex-bruiser But I never wasted me
self. Sam. nor kept late hours an' buru
ed tlie candle at all ends. 1 had a
dashed good candle an' made the most
of it. as you'll grant at lookin' at me.
And I've taught tlie same to the youug
un What do you think of a lad of
twenty-two that's never had a drink In
his life nor tasted tobacco? That's
him
"He's a giant and he's lived natural
all his days. Wait till he takes you
out after deer He'll break your heart
travelin' light, him n-carryiu tlie out
tit and a big buck deer belike. He's u
child of the open air an winter nor
summer has he slept under a roof. The
open for him. ns I taught him.
"The one thing that worries me is
how he'll take to sleepin’ in houses an
how he'll stand tbe tobacco smoke in
tlie ring. 'Tis a terrible thing, that
smoke, when you're fighting hard an'
gaspin' for air. But no more. Sam, me
boy. You're tired an’ sure should be
sleepin'. Walt till you see him, that’s
all. Wait till you see him.”
Life among two fisted men is Jack
London’s text, and he sticks to it.
He tells of existence and of men as
he has found them —from the Bering
sea to the south sea islands.
The experiences of his characters
have been his own. That is what
makes them real men.
Add to his contact with life and hia
capacity of keeping vivid impressions
of it a power to make his readers fee!
with him and you catch hold of the
secret of his great power over his
readers.
Few living men equal London in
“getting down to facts.” He has the
ability of making the word fit the
scene, of telling a story in a phrase, of
revealing a life in a chapter.
When you finish a London story you
,have lived with the characters. They
are not men and women of straw, set
up to fill out an idle hour.
They are living, breathing, feeling,
suffering, triumphant human beings.
Jack London is only thirty-eight
years old. In twenty years he has
crowded more real life than most men
do in a long lifetime.
He left college to go to the Klondike,
and his farewell to book schools was
permanent. Since then he has learned
his lessons before the mast, in Japan,
seal hunting in the arctic, tramping
through the United States and Canada
and as a war correspondent in the
Russo-Japanese war.
Thousands of men and women have
heard him lecture and have felt as they
heard his strong, sincere voice that
they were listening to a real man
among men.
In “The Abysmal Brute” he has cho
sen a novel theme and handled it with
an art that holds the reader’s interest
from first word to “finis.”
But the garni.ousuess of age was on
old Pat. and it was long before he per
mitted Stubener's eyes to close.
"He can run a deer down with his
own logs, that young un.” he broke
out again. “ ’Tis the dandy trainin’
for the lungs, the hunter’s life. He
don't know much of else, though he's
read a few books at times an' poetry
stuff. He’s just plain pure natural, as
you'll see when you clap eyes on hitn
He’s got the old Irish strong in him.
"Sometimes, tlie way he moons about
it's thinkin' strong I am that he be
lieves in the fairies and such like. He’s
a nature lover if ever there was one.
an’ lie's afeurd of cities. He’s read
about them, but the biggest he was
ever in was Deer Lick He misliked the
many people, and his report was that
they'd stand weedin’ out That was
two years agone—the first and the last
time he’s seen a locomotive and a train
of cars.
“Sometimes it’s wrong I’m thinkin’ I
am. hringin' him up a natural. It’s
given him wind and stamina and tlie
strength of wild bulls. No city grown
man can have a look-in against him
I'm willin’ to grant that Jeffries at his
best could 'a' worried tlie young un a
bit. but only a bit. Tbe young un
could ’a' broke him like a straw. An’
he don't look it. That's the everlasting
wonder of it. He's only a fine seem
ing young husky: but it’s the quality
of his muscle that’s different But wait
till ye see him, that’s all.
“A strange liking the boy has for
posies, an' little meadows, a bit of pine
with the moon beyond, windy sunsets
or the sun o’ morns from the top of old
Baidy. An' he has a hankerin' for the
drawin’ o' pitchers of things, an' of
sjKiuting about 'Lucifer or night' from
the poetry books he got from tlie red
headed school teacher.
"But 'tis only his youngness. He'll
settle down to the game once we get
him started, but watch out for
grouches when it first comes to livin'
in u city for him.”
CHAPTER
“ A GOOD thing: he's woman shy
Is They'll not bother him for
years." continued Old Pat.
"He can't bring himself to
understand tlie creatures, an* few of
them has he seen at 'Twas the
schoolteacher over at faiusun's Flat
that put the poetry stuff in his head.
She was clean daffy over the young
’un. an' he never a-Unowin'.
"A warm haired girl she was—not a
mountain girl, hut from down in the
fiat lands—an' as time went by she
was fair desperate, an' the way she
went after him was shameless. An'
what d'ye think the boy did when he
tumbled to It? He was scared as a
JaekralibiL He took blankets an' am
munition an' hiked for tall timber.
"Not for a month did I lay eyes on
him, an’ then he sneaked in after dark
and was gone in the morn. Nor would
he as much as peep at her letters.
'Burn 'em,' he said. An' burn ’em I
did. Twice she rode over on a cayuse
all the way from Samson's Flat an' I
was sorry for tbe young creature. She
was fair hungry for the boy. and she
looked it In her face. An’ at the end
of three months she gave op school
an' went back to her own country, an’
then it was that the boy came home
to the shack to live again.
"Women ha’ been the ruination of
many a good tighter, but they won't be
of him. He blushes like a girl If any
thing young in skirts looks at him a
second time or too long on the first
one. An they all look at him. £ u j
when be fights, when he fights! It’s
the old savage Irish that fiares
him. an' drives the fists of him.
"Not that he goes off his base. Don't
walk away with that At my best 1
was never as eool as he. 1 misdoubt
'twas the wrath of me that brought
the accidents. But lie's an iceberg
He’s hot an' cold at the one time; "a
live wire in an ice chest."
Stubener was dozing when the old
man's mumble aroused him. He listen
ed drowsily
“I made n man o' him: I made a man
o' him. with the two fists of him, aa’
the tipstanding legs of him. an' the
straight seein' eyes. And I know the
game in cay head, an' I've kept up
with the times and the modern
changes. The crouch?
"Sure, he knows all the styles an’
economies He never moves two inches
when an inch and a half will do tin*
turn. And when he wants he can
spring like a buck kangaroo. Infiglit
in'? Wait till you see. Better than his
outflghtin'. and he could sure 'a' spar
rod with Peter Jackson au’ outfooted
Corbett in his best. I tell you. I've
taught ’m it all. to the last trick, and
he’s improved on the teachin’. He's
a fair genius at the game.
“An' he's had plenty of husky moun
tain men to try out on. I gave him
the fancy work and they gave him the
sluggin'. Nothing shy or delicate about
them. Roarin' bulls an' big grizzly
bears, that’s what they are. when it
comes to buggin' in a clinch or swing
in' roughlike in the rushes. An' lie
plays with ’em. Man. d'ye hear me?
He plays with them, like you an' me
would play with little puppy dogs.”
Another time Stubener awoke, to
hear the old mail mumbling:
“ 'Tis tile funny think he don't take
fightin' seriously. It's that easy to
him he thinks it play But wait till
he’s tapped a swift one. That's all
wait. An' you’ll see 'ni throw on the
juice in that cold storage plant of his
an' turn loose the prettiest scientific
wallopin’ that ever you laid eyes on."
In tlie shivery gray of mountain
dawn Stubener was routed from his
blankets by old Piit.
"He's cornin’ up the trail now,” was
the hoarse whisper "Out with ye an’
take your first peep at the biggest
fightin’ man the ring lias ever seen, or
will ever see in a thousand years
again."
The manager peered through the
open door, rubbing the sleep from his
heavy eyes, and saw a young giant
walk into the clearing. In one hand
was a rifie. across his shoulders a
heavy deer, under which he moved as
if it were weightless.
He was dressed roughly in blue over
alls and woolen shirt, open at the
throat. Coat he had none, and on his
feet instead of brogaus were mocca
sins. Stubener noted that His walk
was smooth and catlike, without sug
gestion of his 'J'JU pounds ot weight to
which that of the deer was added
The tight manager was impressed
from the first glimpse. Formidable
the young fellow certainly was, but
[ the manager sensed the strangeness
! and uuustialness of him. He was a
new type, something different from the
run of fighters.
He seemed a creature of the wild,
more a night roaming figure from
some old fairy story or folk tale than
a twentieth century youth.
A tiling Stubener quickly discovered
was that young Pat was not much of a
talker. He acknowledged old Pat's in
troduction with a grip of the hand, but
without speech, and silently set to
work at building the fire and getting
breakfast
To his father’s direct questions he
answered in monosyllables, as. for in
stance. when asked where he had pick
ed up the deer.
"South fork.” was all he vouchsafed.
"Eleven miles across the mountains."
the old man exposited pridefully to
Stubener. “an" a trail that’d break
your heart."
Breakfast consisted of black coffee,
sour dough bread and an immense
quantity of bear meat broiled over the
coals. Of this the young fellow ate
ravenously, and Stubener divined that
both the Glendons were accustomed to
an almost straight meat diet.
Old Pat did all the talking, though it
was not till the meal was enued that
he broached the subject he had at
hea rt
“Put. boy," he began, "you know
who the gentleman is?"
Young Pat nodded and cast a quick,
comprehensive glance at the manager.
“Well, he'll be takiu' you away with
him and down to San Francisco."
“I'd soouer stay here, dad.” was the
answer.
Stubener felt a prick of disappoint
ment It was a wild goose chase aft
er all. This was no fighter, eager and
fretting to be at it Ills huge brawn
counted for nothing. It was nothing
new. It was the big fellows that
usually had the streak of fat.
But old Pat’s Celtic wrath flared np
and his voice was harsh with com
mand.
"You'll go down to the cities a D
fight me boy. That’s what I’ve train
ed you for an’ you’ll do It”
"All right,” was the unexpected re
sponse, rumbled apathetically from the
deep chest
“And fight like the old man ,
added.
Again Stubener felt disappointment
at the absence of flash and fire in the
young man’s eyes as he answered:
“All right When do we start?'
“Oh. Sam, here, he'll be wantin' »
little huntin’ and to fish a bit as we-i
ns to try you out with the gloves.
He looked at Sam, who nodded
" Suppose you strip and give 'm 8
taste of your quality."
(To be continued.)