to get free he realized I was going to double-cross Petelli, and he was going to lose the fight
36
unless he could nail me before I had shaken off the effects of his punch.
I hung on in spite of all he did, and in spite of the referee trying to tear us apart. I only
needed four or five seconds to get my head clear, and when I did decide it was safe to break, I
stabbed my left into the Kid’s cut-up face before he could get set to throw a finishing punch.
Panting and wild he came at me, but I weaved away, back-pedalled, and left him
floundering. He was as wild as a rogue elephant now, and kept rushing at me while I dodged
and retreated until I was good and ready to take him. Then as he came in for the fourth time I
stopped in my tracks and brought over the right book. It smashed against his jaw and down he
went in a flurry of blood, rolled over and stiffened out.
It was a waste of time to count him out, but the referee went through the motions. When he
reached ten, the Kid was still lying on his back as motionless as a corpse. White and scared
looking, the referee moved over to me and lifted my glove as if it was loaded with dynamite.
“Farrar’s the winner!”
I looked at her. She was standing up, flushed and excited, and she blew me a kiss. Then the
ring became crammed with pressmen and photographers, and I lost sight of her.
Petelli appeared out of the crowd. He was smiling, but his eyes were hot and intent.
“Okay, Farrar,” he said. “Well, you know what to expect.”
He moved away to speak to the Kid’s manager, and Waller, his face grey and his eyes
rolling, came over to me and dropped my dressing-gown across my shoulders.
As I climbed out of the ring I caught sight of Pepi, a tight little grin on his face, waiting at
the top of the ramp.
VII
I felt safe enough so long as the dressing-room was crowded with pressmen and fans who
had come to shake hands with me and to tell me what a fine fighter I was, but when they
began to drift away I knew trouble was creeping up on me.
Waller had returned to the dressing-room with me. He was scared all right, and as soon as
he had finished rubbing me down, he began to cast nervous and longing glances at the door.
Tom Roche had been in, but I got rid of him quickly. I didn’t want him mixed up in any
trouble.
37
There were now only a couple of pressmen and three fans left, and they were arguing in a
corner about who had the heaviest punch among the old heavyweights, and they weren’t
paying any attention to me.
“Okay, Henry,” I said, as I fixed my tie. “Don’t wait. Thanks for all you’ve done.”
“There ain’t anything I can do for you,” Waller said. “You’d better get out fast. Don’t let
them catch you alone.” He wiped his shiny face with the back of his hand. “You shouldn’t
have done it.”
“Shouldn’t have done - what?”
A creepy sensation ran up my spine as I turned. There she was in her apple-green linen suit,
her big black eyes looking into mine, a cigarette between her white-gloved fingers. “What
shouldn’t you have done, Johnny?”
Waller edged away and slid out of the room, leaving me staring at her like a paralysed deaf
mute. The little group in the corner stopped talking and eyed her hungrily.
One of the pressmen said, “Let’s go, boys: this is the one time a fighter really likes to lose
his friends.”
They all laughed as if he had cracked the best joke in the world, but they went. The little
room seemed suddenly vast and empty as the last of them drifted through the doorway.
