JOHNNY SCORES A KNOCKDOWN
Johnny experienced no difficulty in locating Drew's club. It was a fine
place, that club; small, but very useful. Not much space for loafing
there; a lobby, that was all. A completely equipped gymnasium, showers, a
swimming pool, bowling alleys in the basement, a floor for boxing and
fencing. A young men's club this was, with a purpose. That purpose was
set up in large letters above the desk in the lobby: KEEP FIT.
In a surprisingly short time they had undressed, passed under the
showers, gone through a quick rub-down, drawn on shorts and gloves, and
there they were.
Drew was five years Johnny's senior. He was taller almost by a head, and
thirty pounds heavier. It seemed an uneven match. But Johnny was well
built. Then, too, he had a passion for boxing that dated back to his
sixth year. When at that early date a boy three years his senior had
taken it upon himself to put Johnny in his place, Johnny had emerged from
the engagement bloody, tattered and victorious.
For a space of five minutes these two, Johnny and Drew, sparred, getting
up their wind and landing comfortable body blows now and then. When they
sat down for a brief blowing spell, Drew looked Johnny over with
increased admiration. He had expected to amuse this boy and get a little
workout for himself. He had found that Johnny was quick on his feet, that
his eyes were good, and that his left carried a punch that came with the
speed of chain lightning.
"I was going to give you a little sermon on keeping fit," Drew said after
a moment of silence. "Guess you don't need it."
"Everyone needs it."
"You bet they do. Hadn't been for my keeping fit, I wouldn't be here at
all. Come on. Let's go another round."
Once more they sparred. This time Drew seemed determined to deal Johnny
at least one smacker on the face. In this he was singularly unsuccessful.
Johnny was never there when the blow arrived. He ducked; he wove right,
wove left, sprang backward, spun round.
Then of a sudden, something happened. In making a desperate effort to
reach Johnny's chin, Drew exposed the left side of his face. Johnny swung
hard, but planned to pull the punch. Drew suddenly leaned into it.
Johnny's blow came in with the impact of a trip hammer, just under Drew's
ear.
Drew dropped like an empty sack.
He was out for the count of five. Then he sat up dizzily, stared about
him, caught Johnny's eyes, then grinned a crooked grin that lacked
nothing of sincerity as he exclaimed:
"That was a darb!"
Half an hour later, after a second shower, the two boys sat in the small
lunch room of the club, munching cold tongue sandwiches on rye, and
drinking coffee.
"Boy!" said Drew. "You should train for the ring."
"Doesn't interest me," said Johnny. "Fine thing to box, just to keep fit.
But when it comes to making a business of a thing that should be all pure
fun--not for me!"
"Guess you're right."
"But tell me," said Johnny. "Is it hard to become a city detective?"
"Not so easy. Many a fellow out in the sticks pounding a beat would like
to be on the detective force. It's more dangerous. But you have more
freedom. And you get a bigger kick out of it. If you get there quick
you've got to get a break. I got a break.
"Queer sort of thing," he mused as one will who is about to spin a yarn.
"I was off duty, dressed in knickers, driving home in my car, with a
friend, from a golf game. Traffic light stopped us. Fellow, tough looking
egg, stuck a cannon in my face and said: 'Stick 'em up!'"
"What did you do?" Johnny leaned forward eagerly.
"What would you have done?"
"You weren't on duty. Weren't wearing your star?"
"Not wearing my star, that's right. But in a way an officer of the law is
never off duty. Many a brave fellow has been killed because he stepped
into something when he was in civilian clothes and off duty.
"My friend that was with me was a real guy. He wouldn't have squawked if
I had given that bad egg my money and driven on.
"But you know, that's not the way a fellow's mind works. No, sir! You say
to yourself, 'This guy's got the drop on me. I've got to get him. How'll
I do it?'"
"What did you do?" Johnny's coffee was cooling on the table.
"I said, 'Please, Mister, don't shoot me. I'm a young fellow. I don't
want to die. I'll give you everything, but don't shoot!' Stalling for
time. See?
"'All right,' he growled, 'back the car into the alley.'
"He climbed into the back seat and pressed cold steel against the back of
my neck.
"Of course I had to look through the rear window to back into the alley.
That gave me an idea. I blinked my eyes as if I saw someone behind the
car. He was nervous. They generally are. Who wouldn't be?
"He turned his head to look back. I had a small 32 in my pocket. I
whipped it out and took a pot shot at him.
"My hand struck the back of the seat. The gun flew up. I missed.
"He whirled about and put his gun on my temple. 'You murderin' ----
----,' he said, and pulled the trigger three times.
"The gun didn't go off." Drew paused to smile. "Sometimes a fellow gets a
break that makes him want to believe in angels and things like that.
"That gun was loaded with slugs. It had a lock on it. He had failed to
release the lock. He threw away his gun and grabbed for mine.
"We grappled, and I went over the seat on top of him, shouting to my
friend: 'Go call the police.' He went.
"Then we fought it out there alone. That's where keeping fit came in. He
was a tough egg with a record long as your arm. He was strong. He was
desperate. The 'stir' craze was on him.
"'Don't resist me,' I said. 'I'm an officer.'
"'I'll kill you with your own gun if it's the last thing I ever do!' That
was his answer.
"We fought and struggled. He banged me here. He banged me there. He bit
my hand to the bone. Once he pressed my own gun to my head, but my finger
was on the trigger. He couldn't shoot.
"'Pull the trigger, ---- ---- you! Pull the trigger. It's on your head!'
That's what he said.
"A stranger heard the noise and came to look at us.
"'Call the police!' I yelled. 'Call the police!'
"You should have heard him hot-footing out of there! I tell you that was
funny!
"And then we bumped into the door. It flew open. We tumbled out. I got my
chance. I fired one shot. I got my man.
"Hey, waiter!" Drew called with a smile. "Bring us some more coffee. This
has gone cold."
"Of course," he said thoughtfully, "it's always too bad when a man has to
die. But it was one or the other of us. He wasn't much good. They wanted
him for a dozen robberies, and for shooting a policeman.
"I was in the sticks walking a beat then. They gave me a job on the
detective force, and I received a hundred dollars reward from one of the
papers. So you see, life as a copper isn't so bad, providing you get the
breaks."
"Yes," Johnny said slowly, "Providing you do."
"I suppose," said Drew after stirring his coffee reflectively for a time,
"that I should be satisfied. And I am, reasonably so. But you know,
pickpockets are very small game. It's necessary enough that they should
be mopped up. But it's like hunting rabbits when there are grizzly bears
about. I'd like to get in on something big.
"Things are going to happen in this old town. Judges are getting better.
The prosecutors are working harder. The honest people are waking up. One
of these fine days the order will be given to break up every gang in
town; bring them in or drive them out. I want to be in on that."
"You will," said Johnny. "They won't be able to do it without you. They
need a thousand like you, a Legion of Youth."
"You are right!" Drew put his cup down with a crash. "College men. That's
what they need. Men may sneer at them. They needn't. I'm a college man,
and I'm proud of it.
"Know what?" His eyes shone. "They are going to put courses in
criminology in the colleges and universities. They'll do more than that.
They'll teach young fellows how to be good detectives. Why not? They
teach them everything else. Why not that?"
"They will," said Johnny. "And I'd like to take the course myself."