Dillon said, “We'll go back. They'll be comin' in soon.”
The hall was ablaze with light when they walked in. A buzz of talk hummed round the walls. The ring was empty. As they took their seats the lights began to dim.
The fat men behind them were talking in loud, hoarse voices. “There ain't enough business goin' on tonight,” one of them complained. “I'm layin' three to one on Franks. The suckers ain't taking me.”
Dillon turned his head. “I'll take five hundred of that,” he said.
The two fat men looked at each other, a little startled. Then one of them said, “Sure,” but they stopped talking after that.
Gurney nudged Dillon, jerking his head. Beth Franks was coming down the aisle. She slipped into a vacant seat near one of the corners. Her face had a boney, scraped look, and her eyes glittered as if she had a fever.
Gurney whispered, “She's nuts to come here.”
Dillon shook his head. “It'll keep Franks' mind right,” he said.
The crowd began to yell. Sankey was coming in. The spotlights followed him down the aisle, reflecting on his red dressing-gown. He climbed through the ropes, holding one hand above his head.
Gurney said, “Hell! He thinks he's Louis.”
Sankey plodded round the ring, keeping his hand up, while half the house groaned at him, and the other half yelled. He had four handlers in white, who stood self-consciously in the corner, waiting for him to get through with his stuff. He came back at last, and stood in his corner, flexing his knees and worrying the ropes.
Morgan cast a look at Dillon. “He's got his nerve back, ain't he?”
Dillon sneered.
Franks came down now. The crowd got to their feet for him. The roof trembled at their roar. The three twisted their heads to watch him come. Franks looked a little fine-drawn, and there were smudges just under his eyes. He had to walk past them to the ring.
Gurney called, “Don't get too tough with him, Harry.”
The crowd liked that, and they hooted. Franks didn't look, he kept on.
Beth heard Gurney and she stood up, looking with wild eyes at the three of them sitting on her left. She stared at them for several seconds, then she sat down again.
Morgan shifted uncomfortably. “She'll know us again,” he said.
The other two didn't say anything.
Sankey bounced out of his corner and pushed the rope down for Franks to get through. Franks paused, looking up at him. “Be yourself,” he snarled. “Get to hell out of it!”
The crowd thought Sankey was being sporty. They gave him a yell. Franks took the ropes like a hurdle, leaving Sankey still holding them. The crowd liked that too, they hooted and clapped.
They couldn't keep Sankey out of Franks' corner. He went over there and patted Franks' shoulder. The crowd thought it was wonderful.
Franks said, “If you don't keep this sonofabitch away from me, I'll start on him now.”
Borg said to Sankey, “Give us a little air, brother, you'll be seein' him too much soon.”
Sankey wandered back to his corner, his two fists together, waving to the crowd.
Gurney said, “This bastard'll drive me barmy.”
Hank went over to Franks' corner while Borg bandaged his hands. Hank said, “You got enough tape.”
Franks looked up at him. “Don't he dumb,” he said, “it's soft enough.”
A little guy with a hand-mike got into the ring and started blowing. He got the crowd worked up all right. The only thing worth noting was Franks went six pounds heavier than Sankey.
Gurney was conscious of a dryness in his throat and his heart's heavy thumping. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and rubbed his glistening forehead with his hand. Dillon sat like a rock, his hands limply on his knees and his jaw moving slowly, clamping on the gum.
Gurney watched the referee call the two men in the centre of the ring. Sankey came out, his dressing-gown like a cape on his shoulders. Franks only had a towel across his back.
They stood there listening to the referee giving them the same old line. Gurney wished they'd get on with it.
They went back to their corners Cigar-smoke spiraled slowly to the ceiling. The crowd was tense, silent and waiting.
Sankey shed his dressing-gown, holding on to the ropes, rubbing his shoes in the resin. The handlers bundled themselves out of the ring as the gong rang.
Franks came out cautiously, his chin on his chest. Sankey almost ran at him. He swung a left and a right, but Franks went under them, socking Sankey in the body. Sankey didn't like it; he went into a clinch, roughing Franks round, cuffing his head with half-arm punches that didn't worry Franks. He hung on until the referee smacked his arm, then, as he was going away, Franks caught him with a right swing to the side of his head. The crowd howled with joy. Sankey came back at him, but Franks tied him up in a clinch. They wrestled some more and again Franks caught him as he broke.
Gurney shifted, crossed his legs and uncrossed them. “What the hell's he playin' at?” he asked.
The other two didn't say anything.
Franks was coming in fast again; Sankey backed against the ropes, smothering most of what Franks was handing out to him. Sankey sent over a tremendous right that caught Franks as he was coming in. It caught him too high up to hurt him, but it stopped him, and Sankey got off the ropes and danced away. Franks bored in and they both exchanged short jabs to the head and body. The gong went just as Sankey was getting going. It was Franks' round all right.
The crowd buzzed and buzzed all round them. Gurney sat back, conscious of the sweat that was running down his back. He said to Dillon, “You said the fifth, didn't you?”
Dillon said, “Don't get into a spin. It's in the bag. That punk's got to put up a show.”
Sankey lay back in his corner, his face sullen.
Hank flapped a towel over him, telling him to take it easy.
The gong went for the second round.
It was Franks who came out fast this time. He was almost into Sankey's corner before Sankey got his hands up. The crowd roared at them. Sankey's left jumped into Franks' face, jerking his head back, but he was coming in with such steam that it didn't stop him. He banged Sankey into his corner, bringing both hands hard into his body. You could hear those two blows out in the street.
Sankey jerked up with both of them, his mouth going slack. A wild look came into his eyes, but he kept his hands up. Gurney screamed at him, “Push him off! Get away from him!”
Franks brought over a round-house swing. It landed on Sankey's head. Sankey went down on his knee. Franks was keeping cool. He immediately walked away to a neutral corner, letting the referee start a count. The hall shook with the noise. People stood up on their chairs, yelling themselves hoarse.
Morgan's shrill yell drifted to Sankey. “Wait for it! Stay where you are!”
Sankey got up at nine. He seemed all right. Franks came at him, just a little reckless. Sankey saw an opening and lammed in. Franks didn't like it. He was shaken. They were both glad to clinch. And this time Franks missed Sankey when they broke. Sankey kept Franks away with left jabs, running backwards all round the ring, poking with his left. Franks just wanted to get in and sock. Towards the end of the round Franks got in. Sankey tried to tie him up, but it was like holding on to a buzz-saw. Franks let go four hooks one after the other. They sank into Sankey's ribs, making the crowd give a sighing groan. Sankey's knees went. He was in trouble, trying to keep his hands up when the bell went.
Dillon got to his feet. “Go to his corner,” he said to Gurney savagely. “Tell him to fight. He won't last to the fifth at this rate. Let that palok Franks see you. Give him a signal or something.”
Gurney pushed his way to the aisle and made his way to Sankey's corner. Hank was working on him desperately. He was looking worried. Gurney said, “For God's sake, you gotta watch that fella.”
