_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ COMING CHAMPION _WHO WAS_ DELAYED
In a certain Athletic Club which rented two rooms over a Tin-Shop there
was one Boy who could put it All Over the other Members.
He knew how to Jab and Counter and Upper-Cut and Bore in with the Left
and Play for the Wind. He had Lumps on his Arms and a good Pair of
Shoulders, and every one in the Club told him he had the makings of a
World-Beater. He used to coax Grocery Clerks and Grammar-School Children
to put on the Gloves with him, and then he would go around them, like a
Cooper around a Barrel, and Trim them right and proper.
His friends would stand and watch him make Monkeys of these anaemic
Amateurs, and gradually the Conviction grew within them that he could
Lick anybody of his Weight. The Boy believed them when they told him he
ought to go after the Top-Notchers.
He gave up his Job in the Planing Mill and became a Pugilist. The
Proprietor of a Cigar Store acted as his Manager, and began to pay his
Board. This Manager was Foxy. He told the Boy that before tackling the
Championship Class it would be better to go out and beat a lot of
Fourth-Raters, thereby building up a Reputation and at the same time
getting here and there a Mess of the Long Green.
[Illustrations: MANAGER]
In the same Town there was an Undertaker who had Sporting Blood in his
Veins, and he sought out the Manager and made a Match in behalf of an
Unknown.
The boy went into Training in a Stable. He had a yellow Punching Bag, a
Sponge, a Bath-Robe and several Towels. Two Paper-Hangers who were out
of Work acted as his Trainers. They rubbed him with Witch Hazel all day,
and in the Evening the Boy stood around in a Sweater and Talked out of
the corner of his Mouth. He said he was Trained to the Minute, as Hard
as Nails and Fit as a Fiddle, and he would make Mr. Unknown jump out of
the Ring.
As the Day of the Battle approached it came out that the Unknown was a
Scrapper who had been fairly Successful at one Time, but had ceased to
be a Live One several Years before. He was imported especially for this
Contest with the Coming Champion.
[Illustration: THE COMING CHAMPION]
When he arrived in Town it was evident that he lacked Condition. He had
been dieting himself on Pie and Beer, and any Expert, such as the Cigar
Store Man, could tell by looking at him that his Abdomen was not hard
enough to withstand those crushing Body Blows such as the Boy was in the
Habit of Landing--on the Punching Bag. Accordingly the Word went around
that the imported Pug was too Fat and had bad Wind.
It began to resemble a Cinch.
The Manager went out and bet more Money, and the Coming Champion was
Nervous for fear that he would kill the Has-Been if he connected too
strong on the Point of the Jaw. He thought it would be better to wear
him down with Short-Arm blows and make him Quit. He had read that it was
Dangerous to punish a Physical Wreck, who might have Heart Trouble or
something like that. The Boy was a Professional Pugilist, but he had
Humane Instincts.
When the Boy came to the Train which was to carry the Participants and
the Spectators to the Battle-Field he was attended by four Comrades, who
had Ice, Beef Tea, Brandy, Alcohol, Blankets and other Paraphernalia.
They made a Couch for him in the Baggage Car, and had him lie down, so
that he might conserve all his Strength and step into the Ring as fresh
as possible. The so-called Unknown had no one to Handle him. He sat
Alone in the Men's Car, with a queer Telescope Valise on his Knees, and
he smoked a Cigarette, which was in direct Violation of all the Rules of
Training.
At last the Company arrived at the Secluded Spot, and a Ring was staked
out.
The Coming Champion was received with Loud Cheers. He wore a new Pair of
Gymnasium Shoes, spotless Trunks, and around his Waist was an American
Flag, presented by his Admirers in the Athletic Club.
In a few Moments the Imported Scrapper came into the Ring, attended by
the Sporty Undertaker. He wore an old Pair of Bike Shoes and faded Work
Trousers, chopped off at the Knees, while his Belt was a Shawl-Strap.
He was chewing Gum.
[Illustration: AND SEE!]
After he put on the Gloves he looked over at the Coming Champion and
remarked to the Undertaker that he (the Coming Champion) seemed to be a
Nice Young Fellow. After which he Yawned slightly, and wanted to know
what Time they would get a Train back to Town.
The Bell rang, and there in the Center of the Ring stood the Tottering
Has-Been and the Coming Champion.
The Has-Been was crouched, with his Head drawn in, turtle-fashion, his
Legs spraddled, and oh, the hard, vicious Expression on that Face, as he
Fiddled Short and looked intently at the Coming Champion's Feet. This
was a very confusing and unprofessional Thing to do, as the Boy had not
been accustomed to boxing with People who looked at his Feet. He
wondered if there was anything the matter with his Gymnasium Shoes.
In a Moment or two he saw that the Physical Wreck was afraid to Lead, so
he did some nimble Foot Work, and his Gloves began to describe
Parabolas--then all at once somebody turned off the Sunshine.
They threw Cold Water on him, held a Bottle of Ammonia to his Nose and
stuck Pins in under his Finger-Nails.
At last his Eye-Lids fluttered, and he turned a dim and filmy Gaze on
his faithful Seconds gathered about him.
"Oh, how the Birds sing!" he murmured. "And see! The Aurora Borealis is
trying to climb over Pain's Fire-Works."
"Cheer up!" said the Manager. "He took a Mean Advantage of you and Hit
you when you wasn't Looking."
"Ah, yes, it all comes back to me. Did I win?"
"Not quite," replied the Manager, who feared to tell him the whole
Truth.
"You say he Hit me?" asked the Coming Champion.
"Yes."
"With a Casting?"
"We couldn't tell. He was in such a Hurry."
All this Time the Victor was sitting on the Station Platform with the
Undertaker. He was Remarking that it seemed to be a very Purty Country
thereabouts, and he'd often wished he could close in on enough of the
Gilt to buy him a nice piece of Land somewhere, inasmuch as he regarded
a Farmer as the most independent Man on Earth.
Next week there was a familiar Name back on the Time-Card at the Planing
Mill.
MORAL: _In all the Learned Professions, Many are Called but Few are
Chosen._
_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ LAWYER _WHO_ BROUGHT IN _A_ MINORITY REPORT
At a Bazaar, the purpose of which was to Hold Up the Public for the
Benefit of a Worthy Cause, there were many Schemes to induce Visitors to
let go of their Assets. One of the most likely Grafts perpetrated by the
astute Management was a Voting Contest to Determine who was the Most
Beautiful and Popular Young Lady in the City. It cost Ten Cents to cast
one Vote. The Winner of the Contest was to receive a beautiful Vase,
with Roses on it.
A prominent Young Lawyer, who was Eloquent, Good Looking, and a Leader
in Society, had been selected to make the Presentation Speech after the
Votes had been counted.
In a little while the Contest had narrowed down until it was Evident
that either the Brewer's Daughter or the Contractor's Daughter was the
Most Beautiful and Popular Young Lady in the City. The Brewer and his
Friends pushed Ten Dollar Bills into the Ballot Box, while the
Contractor, just before the Polls closed, slipped in a Check for One
Hundred Dollars.
When the Votes were counted, the Management of the Bazaar was pleased to
learn that the Sixty-Cent Vase had Netted over Seven Hundred Dollars. It
was Announced that the Contractor's Daughter was exactly Nine Dollars
and Twenty Cents more Beautiful and Popular than the Brewer's Daughter.
[Illustration: THE MINORITY REPORT]
Thereupon the Committee requested that the Eloquent Young Lawyer step to
the Rostrum and make the Presentation Speech. There was no Response; the
Young Lawyer had Disappeared.
One of the Members of the Committee started on a Search for him, and
found him in a dusky Corner of the Japanese Tea Garden, under the Paper
Lanterns, making a Proposal of Marriage to a Poor Girl who had not
received one Vote.