Newspaper Page Text
She
Abysmal Brute
By JACK LONDON
SYNOPSIS
Pam Stubener. manager of boxers, hears
about a wonderful unknown boxer called
Young Pat Glendon. He linds the boy In
the wilderness
Glendon. Innocent of the world's ways,
goes to San Francisco and is matched
with “Roughhouse Kelly.”
He whips Kelly and other boxers so eas
ily that he Is called "One Punch Glendon.”
He meets the Flying Dutchman.
Glendon wins again. He nears the top
In pugilism. His manager. Stubener, en
gages In crooked ring practices, unknown
to Glendon.
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“But she’s not nil ordinary reporter,”
Stubener interposed. “You’ve heard
of the Snngsters, the millionaires?”
Pat nodded.
“Well, she’s one of them. She’s high
society and all that stuff. She could
he running with the Rlingum crowd
now if she wanted to instead of work
ing for wages. Her old man’s worth
$50,000,000 if lie’s worth a cent.”
“Then what’s she working on a pa
per for—keeping some poor devil out
of a Job?”
"She and the old man fell out, had a
tiff or something, about the time he
started to clean up San Francisco. She
quit, that’s all—left home and got a
job. And let me tell you one thing.
Pat. She can everlastingly sling Eng
lish. There isn’t a pen pusher on the
coast can touch her when she gets go
ing.’’
Pat began to show interest, and
Stubener hurried on:
"She writes poetry, too. the regular
Jadedah stuff, just like you. only I
guess hers is better, because she pub-
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fished a whole book of it once. 'And
she writes up the shows. Hie inter
views every big actor that hits this
burg.’’
“I’ve seen her name in tlie papers,”
Pat commented.
"Sure you have. And you’re honor
ed. Pat, by her coming to interview
you. It won’t bother you any. I’ll
stick right by and give her most of the
dope myself. You knotv I’ve always
done that"
>’»t looked his gratitude.
“And another thing, Pat don’t for
get you’ve got to put up with this in
terviewing. It’s part of your business.
It’s big advertising, and it comes free.
We can’t buy it It Interests people,
draws the crowds, and it’s crowds that
pile up the gate receipts."
He stopped and listened, then looked
at his watch. “I think that’s her now.
I’ll go and get her and bring her in.
I’ll tip it off to her to cut it short, you
know, and it won’t take long." He
turned in the doorway. “And lie de
cent. Pat Don’t shut up like a clam
Talk a bit to tier when she asks yon
questions."
Pat put the sonnets ou the table,
took up a newspaper and was appar
ently deep in its contents when the
two entered the room and lie stood up.
The meeting was a mutual shock
When blue eyes met gray it was al
most as if the man and the woman
shouted triumphantly to each other, as
if each had found something sought
and unexpected. But this was for the
instant only.
Kneh had anticipated in the other
something so totally different that the
next moment tlie clear cry of recogni
tion gave way to confusion.
As is the way of women, she was
the first to achieve control, and she
did it without having given any out
ward sign that she had ever lost it.
She advanced most of the distance
across the floor to meet Glendon. As
for Idin. lie scarcely knew how he
stumbled through the introduction.
Here was a woman—a woman. He
had not known that such a creature
could exist The few women he had
noticed had never prefigured this. He
wondered what old Pat’s judgment
would have been of her; if she was the
sort lie had recommended to hang on
to with both his hands.
He discovered that in some way he
was holding tier hand. He looked at
it. curious and fascinated, marveling
at its fragility.
She. on the other hand, had proceed
ed to obliterate the echoes of that first
clear call. It had—been a peculiar ex
perience, that was all. this sudden out
rush of her tow;ard this strange man.
For was not he the abysmal brute
of the prize ring, the great, fighting,
stupid bulk of a male animal who
hammered up his fellow males of the
same stupid order? She smiled at the
way he continued to hold her hand.
“I’ll have it back, please, Mr. Glen
don." she said. "I—l really need it
you know."
He looked at her blankly, followed
her gaze to her imprisoned hand, and
dropped it in a rush of awkwardness
that sent the blood in a manifest blush
to ids face.
She noted tiie blush, and the thought
came to her that he did not seem quite
the uncouth brute she had pictured.
She could not conceive of a brute
blushing at anything.
And also, she found herself pleased
with the fact that he lacked the easy
glibness to murmur an apology. But
COFFEE COUNTY PROGRESS, DOUGLAS. GEORGIA.
fin, 1 way he devoured her with his
• yes was disconcerting.
He staled at her as if in a trance,
while His cheeks flushed even more
redly.
Stubener by this time bad fetched
a chair for her. and Glendon auto
matically sank down into his.
“He’s in fine shape. Miss. Sangster.
in fine shape.” the manager was say
ing. "That's right isn’t it. Pat? Never
felt better In your life?"
Glendon was bothered by this. His
brow’s contracted in a troubled way.
and be made no reply.
“I’ve wanted to meet you for a long
time. Mr. Glendon,” Miss Sangster
“I’ll have it back, please, Mr. Glendon,”
she said.
said. “I never interviewed a pugilist
before, so if I don’t go about it ex
pertly you'll forgive me. I nrp sure."
"Maybe you'd better start in by
seeing him in action.” was the man
ager's suggestion. “While he’s getting
into his fighting togs I can tell you
a lot about him—fresh stuff too. We’ll
call in Walsh, Pat, and go a couple of
rounds."
“We’ll do nothing of the sort,” Glen
don growled roughly, in just the way
an abysmal brute should. “Go ahead
with the interview.”
The business went ahead unsatis
factorily. Stubener did most of the
talking and suggesting, which was
sufficient to irritate Maud Sangster.
while Pat volunteered nothing.
She studied his fine countenance, the
eyes clear blue and wide apart, the
well modeled, almost aquiline, nose,
the firm, chaste lips that were sweet
in a masculine way in their curl at
the corners and that gave no hint of
any sullenness.
It was a battling personality, she con
cluded. if what the papers said of him
was so. In vain she sought for ear
marks of tiie brute. And in vain she
attempted to establish contacts.
For one thing, she knew too little
about prizefighters and the ring, and
whenever siie opened up a lead it was
promptly snatched away by the infor
■nation oozing Stubener.
"it must he most interesting, tlds
life of a pugilist," she said once, add
ing with a sigh: “I wish I knew more
about it. Tell me, why do you fight?
Oh, aside from money reasons." (This
latter to forestall Stubener.) “Do you
enjoy fighting? Are you stirred by it.
by pitting yoursqlf against other men?
I hardly know how to express what 1
mean, so you must be patient with
me."
Pat and Stubener began speaking to
gether. but for once Pat bore his man
ager down.
"I didn’t care for it at first”—
"You see. it was too dead easy for
him,” Stubener interrupted.
"But later,” Pat went on. “when 1
encountered tiie better fighters, the
real big, clever ones, where I was
more”—
“On your mettle.” she suggested.
“Yes, that’s it; more on my mettle.
I found I did care for it—a great deal,
in fact. But still it's not so absorbing
to me as it might be. You see. while
each battle is a sort of problem which
I must work out with my wits and
muscle, yet to me the issue is never in
doubt’’—
“He’s never had a fight go to a de
cision,” proclaimed. “He’s
won every battle by the knockout
route.”
“And it’s this certainty of the out
come that robs it of what I imagine
must be its finest thrills,” Pat con
cluded.
“Maybe you’ll get some of them
thrills when you go up against Jim
Hanford,” said the manager.
Pat smiled, but did uot speak.
“Tell me some more,” she urged—
“more about the way you feel when
you are fighting."
And then Pat amazed his manager.
Miss Sangster and himself by blurting
out:
“It seems to me I don’t want to talk
with you on such things. It’s as if
there are things more important for
you and me to talk about. I”
He stopped abruptly, aware of what
he was saying, but unaware of why
he was saying it
“Yes.” she cried eagerly. "That’s it.
That is what makes a good interview
—the real personality, you know.”
But Pat remained tongue tied, and
Stubener wandered away on a statis
tical comparison of his champion's
weights, measurements and expan
sions with those of Sandow, the Ter
rible Turk, Jeffries and the other mod
ern strong men. This was of little in
terest to Maud Sangster. and she
showed that she was bored. Her eyes
chanced to rest on the sonnets. She
picked tiie book up and glanced in
quiringly at Stubener.
“That’s Pat’s.” he said. "He goes in
for that kind of stuff and color photog
raphy and art exhibits and such
things. But for heaven’s sake don’t
publish anything about it. It would
ruin his reputation."
CHAPTER VII.
SHE looked accusingly at Glen
don. who immediately became
awkward. To her it was deli
cious—a shy young man with
the body of a giant who was one of
the kings of bruisers and who read
poetry and went to art exhibits and
experimented with color photography 1
Of a surety there was no abysmal
brute here. His very shyness, she di
vined now. was due to sensitiveness
and not stupidity. Shakespeare’s “Son
nets!"
This was a phase that would bear
investigation. But Stubener stole the
opportunity away and was back chant
ing his everlasting statistics.
A few minutes later and most unwit
tingly she opened up the biggest lead
of all. That first sharp attraction to
ward him had begun to stir again after
the discovery of the “Sonnets."
The magnificent frame of his, the
handsome face, the chaste lips, the
ejear looking eyes, the fine forehead
which the short crop q£ blond hair did
not hide, the aura of physical well be
ing and cleanness which he seemed to
emanate—all this and more that she
sensed drew her as she had never been
drawn by any man. and yet through
her mind kept running the nasty ru
mors that she had heard only the day
before at the Courier-Journal office.
"You were right." she said. "There
is something more important to talk
about. There is something in my
mind 1 want you to reconcile for me.
Do you mind?"
I’at shook Lis head.
"if I am frank—abominably frank?
I've heard the men. sometimes, talking
of particular tights and of the betting
odds, and. while I gave no heed to it
at the time. it. seemed to me it was
firmly agreed that there was a great
deal of trickery and cheating connect
ed with the snort. Now. when I look
at you, for instance. 1 find it hard to
understand how you can be a party to
such cheating. 1 can understand your
liking the sport for a sport, as well
as for the money it brings you. but 1
can't understand"—
"There's nothing to understand.'
Stubener broke in. while Bat's lips
were wreathed in a gentle, tolerant
smile. “It's all fairy tales, this talk
about faking, about fixed tigbts and all
that rot. There's nothing to it. Miss
Saugster. I assure you. And now let
me tell you about how 1 discovered
Mr. Glendou. It was a letter I got
from his father"—
But Maud Saugster refused to be
sidetracked, and addressed herself to
Bat.
"Listen. 1 remember one case par
ticularly. It was some fight that took
place several months ago—l forget the
contestants. Due of the editors of the
Courier-Journal told me he intended
to make a good winning. He didn't
hope; he said lie intended. He said he
was on the inside and was betting on
the number of rounds. He told me
the fight would end in the nineteenth.
This was the night before.
"And the next day he triumphantly
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called my~ to the fact That
it had ended in that very round. 1
didn’t think anything of it one way or
the other. I was not interested in
prizefighting then. But I am now. At
the time it seemed quite in accord
with the vague conception I had about
fighting. So you see it isn’t all fairy
tales, is it?"
“I know that fight." Glendon said.
“It was Owen and Murgweatber. And
it did end in the nineteenth round.
Sam. And she said she beard that
round named the day before. How do
you account for it. Sam?”
“How do you account for a man pick
ing a lucky lottery ticket?” the man
ager evaded, while getting bis wits to
gether to answer. “That’s the very
point Men who study form and condi
tion and seconds and rules and such
things often pick the number of rounds,
just as men have been known to pick
hundred to one shots In the races.
And don’t forget one thing, for every
man that wins there’s another that
loses, there’s another that didn’t pick
right. Miss Saugster, I assure you, on
my honor, that faking and fixing in the
fight game is—is nonexistent.”
“What is your opinion. Mr. Glen
don?" she asked.
"The same as mine.” Stubener
snatched the answer. "He knows
what I say is true, every word of it.
He's never fought anything but a
straight fight in his life. Isn’t that
right. Bat?’’
“Yes. it's right.” Bat affirmed: and
the peculiar thing to Maud Saugster
was that she was convinced he spoke
the truth.
She brushed her forehead with her
hand, as if to rid herself of the bepuz
zlement that clouded her brain.
‘‘Listen.’’ she said. “Last night the
same editor told me that your forth
coming fight was arranged to the very
round in which -it would end.”
Stubener was verging on a panic,
but Pat’s speech saved him from re
plying.
“Then the editor lies.” Pat’s voice
boomed now for the first time.
“He Mid not lie before, about that
other fight.” she challenged.
“What round did lie say my fight
with Nat Bowers would end in?”
Before she could answer the man
ager was into the thick of it.
“Oh. rats, Pat!” he cried. “Shut up.
It’s only the regular run of ring ru
mors. Let's get on with this inter
view-.”
He was ignored by Glendon. whose
eyes, bent on hers, were no longer
mildly blue, but harsh and imperative.
She was sure now- that she had stum
bled on something tremendous, some
thing that would explain all that had
bafiied her.
At the same lime she thrilled to the
mastery of his voice and gaze. Here
was a male man who would ta hold
of life and shake out of it what he
wanted.
“What round did the editor sav?”
Glendon reiterated his demand. ‘
“For the love of Mike. Pat. stop this
foolishness." Stubener broke in.
“I wish you would give me a chance
to answer." Maud Saugster said.
”1 guess I'm able to talk with Miss
Saugster." Glendon added. "You get
out. Sam. Go off and take care of
that photographer."
They looked at each other for a
tense, silent moment, then the man
ager moved slowly to the door, opened
it and turned his head to listen.
“And now- what round did he say?"
“I hope I haven’t made a mistake.”
she said tremulously, "but I am very
sure that he said the sixteenth round.”
She saw- and anger leap
into Glendon’s face, and the anger
and accusation in the glance be cast at
his manager, and she knew the blow
had driven home.
And there was reason for his anger.
He knew he had talked it over with
Stubener, and they had reached a deci
sion to give the audience a good run
for its money w-ithout unnecessarily
prolonging the fight and to end it in
the sixteenth.
And here was a woman from a
newspaper office naming the very
round. *
Stubener. in the doorway, looked
limp and pale, and it was evident he
was holding himself, together by an
effort.
“I’ll see you later." Pat told him.
"Shut the door behind you."
The door closed and the two were
left alone Glendon did not speak.
The expression on his face was
frankly one of trouble and per
plexity.
“Well?" she asked.
He got up apd towered above her.
then sat down again, moistening his
iips with his tongue.
“I ll tell you one thing.” he finally
said. “The fight won’t end in the six
teenth round.”
She did not speak, but her uncon
vinced and quizzical smile hurt him.
“You wait and see. Miss Saugster,
and you’ll see that editor man is mis
taken.’’
“Y’ou mean the program is to be
changed?” she queried audaciously.
He quivered to the cut of her words.
“I am not accustomed >to lying,” he
said stiffly, “even to women."
“Neither have you to me. nor have
you denied the program is to be
changed. Perhaps, Mr. Glendon. I am
stupid, but I fail to see the difference
in what number the final round oc
curs so long as it is predetermined
and known."
“I’ll tell you that round, and not
another soul shall know.”
She shrugged her shoulders and
smiled.
“It sounds to me very much like a
racing tip. They are always given
that way. you know-. Furthermore, I
am not quite stupid, and I know there
i 3 something wrong here.
“Why w-ere you made angry by my
naming the round? Why were you
angry with your manager? Why did
you send him from the room^ 1 ”
For reply Glendon walked over to
the window as if to look out. where
he changed his mind and partly turn
ed, and she knew w-ithout seeing that
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“I am very sure that he said the six
teenth round.”
he was studying her face. He came
back and sat down.
“You’ve said i haven’t lied to you.
Miss Sangster. and you were right. 1
haveu't."
He paused, groping painfully for a
correct statement of the situation.
“Now. do you think you can believe
what I am going to tell you? "ill
you take the word of a prizefighter?
She nodded gravely, looking him
straight in the eyes and -certain that
what he was about to tell was the
truth.
"I've always fought straight and
(Continued cm T'.h page)