“Well, Jim,” I said, “how does it feel to be champ?”
“Not so good,” he says.
“Well,” I said, “you never did care much for the glory. But still and all it’s pretty sweet to have all that dough.”
“All what dough?” says Jim.
“Why,” I said, “what you got out of the Wheeler fight, and what you’re getting with this troupe, and what you’ve got a chance to get.”
Jim laughed and so did Moon.
“Listen, Pinkie,” says Moon. “You’re an old pal, so I don’t mind telling you a couple of facts. Our net profits out of the Wheeler fight wouldn’t pay for a Chinaman’s personal laundry. We’re making a little money with this show, but we’ve got to spend it because we’re champion. We’ve got an offer to make a picture, but it ain’t so much and we’ll have to blow the most of it to show we’re a good fella. Further and more, Jim hates that kind of work. They’s one thing he can do better than anybody else, and that’s fight. And that’s all he wants to do, just fight.”
“Well,” I said, “let him fight! He don’t have to fight for nothing.”
“Let him fight who?” says Larry.
“Why, anybody that’ll take him on,” I said. “Let him be a champ like some of the old boys and battle everybody that wants his game.”
“That’s a grand idear!” said Larry. “Now maybe you’ll go ahead and name four or five guys that wants his game; that is, guys that’s got enough chance with him so as they’d draw two hundred people at the gate.”
“Well,” I said, “how about—” I had to stop and think.
“Sure!” said Larry. “There you are! Now you’ll get some idear of what we’re up against. You say, ‘Let him be a champ like some of the old boys and fight everybody.’ That’d be OK if we was living twenty or thirty years ago when they was a bunch round like Fitz, Corbett and McCoy, and Choynski, Sharkey, Ruhlin, big Jeff, and all that gang; any one of them liable to knock each other’s block off. But who have we got to pick from? They ain’t a man living or dead that’s got a chance in God’s world to even make this baby prespire, and the worst of it is that everybody knows it. Here I got a champion at a time when everything’s big money and he should ought to be worth a million fish to me and himself, and he ain’t worth a dime. And he won’t be worth a dime, neither, unless I can build something up.
“They’s just one chance for us,” says Larry, “and that’s to have some young fella spring up from nowheres and knock five or six of these ‘contenders’ for a gool; then we’ll have to stall a w’ile and pretend like we’re scared of him till we’ve got the bugs thinking that maybe he has a look-in. The one thing in our favor is that people loves to see a champion get socked, especially my champion, who ain’t no matinée idol. So if they think they’s a man capable of socking him, they’ll pay to see it come off. Believe me, if we do get a break like that, I’ll demand a purse that’ll knock their eye out. Because fights is going to be few and far between for my little ward. His trouble is that he’s too good. He’d be better if he was worse. Right now they’s no man in sight that it wouldn’t be a joke to match him with. So, as I say, all we can do is watch and pray and hope that some hero pops up before the heavyweight champion of the world dies of starvation. Him and his manager both.”
II
It was quite a w’ile after this when I was in New York and dropped in at the apartment where Jim and Larry was living.
“Set down,” said Moon. “Jim’s out buying new records, but I expect him right back.”
So we set and chinned till the champ showed up. He’d boughten the afternoon papers and he showed us the big headlines about the scrap in London—“Goulet Stops Bradford in First Round.”
“That Englishman must be a fine heel!” said Jim. “This little French boy popped him on the chin and he laid down and rolled over like a circus dog.”
Larry grabbed the papers and read the story. “Boys,” he says, “this may be it!”
“May be what?” says Jim.
“Our chance!” said Moon. “This thing might be built up till it meant something!”
“Say, listen,” says the champ; “I and you have been together long enough so as we ought to be able to speak the same language. But when you say ‘This thing might be built up,’ I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about this thing that come off in London,” said Larry. “Here’s the champion of England and the champion of France, the only two countries over there that has boxing. Well, the champion of France stops this Englishman with a punch and that makes him the champion of Europe. And it makes him look pretty good to the English because they was all stuck on this Bradford. And what looks good to the English looks good to a lot of people here. The way the papers plays it up, you can see they figure they’s a good deal of interest in it. Further and more, this guy Goulet is a war hero. He’s the idol of Europe and the champion of Europe, and if he was built up right he’d be a great card over here. That’s what I’m talking about, a match between their champ and our champ for the
