MAUD. Oh!
FITZSIMMONS. It's fair sickening. She must have a tapeworm. And she
thinks she can sing.
MAUD. Yes?
FITZSIMMONS. Rotten. You can do better yourself, and that's not saying
much. She's a nice girl, really she is, but she is the black sheep of
the family. Funny, isn't it?
MAUD. [Weak voice.] Yes, funny.
FITZSIMMONS. Her brother Jack is all right. But he can't do anything
with her. She's a--a--
MAUD. [Grimly.] Yes. Go on.
FITZSIMMONS. A holy terror. She ought to be in a reform school.
MAUD. [Springing to her feet and slamming newspapers in his face.] Oh!
Oh! Oh! You liar! She isn't anything of the sort!
FITZSIMMONS. [Recovering from the onslaught and making believe he is
angry, advancing threateningly on her.] Now I'm going to put a head on
you. You young hoodlum.
MAUD. [All alarm and contrition, backing away from him.] Don't! Please
don't! I'm sorry! I apologise. I--I beg your pardon, Bob. Only I
don't like to hear girls talked about that way, even--even if it is true.
And you ought to know.
FITZSIMMONS. [Subsiding and resuming seat.] You've changed a lot, I
must say.
MAUD. [Sitting down in leather chair.] I told you I'd reformed. Let us
talk about something else. Why is it girls like prize-fighters? I
should think--ahem--I mean it seems to me that girls would think prize-
fighters horrid.
FITZSIMMONS. They are men.
MAUD. But there is so much crookedness in the game. One hears about it
all the time.
FITZSIMMONS. There are crooked men in every business and profession. The
best fighters are not crooked.
MAUD. I--er--I thought they all faked fights when there was enough in
it.
FITZSIMMONS. Not the best ones.
MAUD. Did you--er--ever fake a fight?
FITZSIMMONS. [Looking at her sharply, then speaking solemnly.] Yes.
Once.
MAUD. [Shocked, speaking sadly.] And I always heard of you and thought
of you as the one clean champion who never faked.
FITZSIMMONS. [Gently and seriously.] Let me tell you about it. It was
down in Australia. I had just begun to fight my way up. It was with old
Bill Hobart out at Rushcutters Bay. I threw the fight to him.
MAUD. [Repelled, disgusted.] Oh! I could not have believed it of you.
FITZSIMMONS. Let me tell you about it. Bill was an old fighter. Not an
old man, you know, but he'd been in the fighting game a long time. He
was about thirty-eight and a gamer man never entered the ring. But he
was in hard luck. Younger fighters were coming up, and he was being
crowded out. At that time it wasn't often he got a fight and the purses
were small. Besides it was a drought year in Australia. You don't know
what that means. It means that the rangers are starved. It means that
the sheep are starved and die by the millions. It means that there is no
money and no work, and that the men and women and kiddies starve.
Bill Hobart had a missus and three kids and at the time of his fight with
me they were all starving. They did not have enough to eat. Do you
understand? They did not have enough to eat. And Bill did not have
enough to eat. He trained on an empty stomach, which is no way to train
you'll admit. During that drought year there was little enough money in
the ring, but he had failed to get any fights. He had worked at long-
shoring, ditch-digging, coal-shovelling--anything, to keep the life in
the missus and the kiddies. The trouble was the jobs didn't hold out.
And there he was, matched to fight with me, behind in his rent, a tough
old chopping-block, but weak from lack of food. If he did not win the
fight, the landlord was going to put them into the street.
MAUD. But why would you want to fight with him in such weak condition?
FITZSIMMONS. I did not know. I did not learn till at the ringside just
before the fight. It was in the dressing rooms, waiting our turn to go
on. Bill came out of his room, ready for the ring. "Bill," I said--in
fun, you know. "Bill, I've got to do you to-night." He said nothing,
but he looked at me with the saddest and most pitiful face I have ever
seen. He went back into his dressing room and sat down.
"Poor Bill!" one of my seconds said. "He's been fair starving these last
weeks. And I've got it straight, the landlord chucks him out if he loses
to-night."
Then the call came and we went into the ring. Bill was desperate. He
fought like a tiger, a madman. He was fair crazy. He was fighting for
more than I was fighting for. I was a rising fighter, and I was fighting
for the money and the recognition. But Bill was fighting for life--for
the life of his loved ones.
Well, condition told. The strength went out of him, and I was fresh as a
daisy. "What's the matter, Bill?" I said to him in a clinch. "You're
weak." "I ain't had a bit to eat this day," he answered. That was all.
By the seventh round he was about all in, hanging on and panting and
sobbing for breath in the clinches, and I knew I could put him out any
time. I drew back my right for the short-arm jab that would do the
business. He knew it was coming, and he was powerless to prevent it.
"For the love of God, Bob," he said; and--[Pause.]
MAUD. Yes? Yes?
FITZSIMMONS. I held back the blow. We were in a clinch.
"For the love of God, Bob," he said again, "the misses and the kiddies!"
And right there I saw and knew it all. I saw the hungry children asleep,
and the missus sitting up and waiting for Bill to come home, waiting to
know whether they were to have food to eat or be thrown out in the
street.
"Bill," I said, in the next clinch, so low only he could hear. "Bill,
remember the La Blanche swing. Give it to me, hard."
We broke away, and he was tottering and groggy. He staggered away and
started to whirl the swing. I saw it coming. I made believe I didn't
and started after him in a rush. Biff! It caught me on the jaw, and I
went down. I was young and strong. I could eat punishment. I could
have got up the first second. But I lay there and let them count me out.
And making believe I was still dazed, I let them carry me to my corner
and work to bring me to. [Pause.]
Well, I faked that fight.
MAUD. [Springing to him and shaking his hand.] Thank God! Oh! You are
a man! A--a--a hero!
FITZSIMMONS. [Dryly, feeling in his pocket.] Let's have a smoke. [He
fails to find cigarette case.]
MAUD. I can't tell you how glad I am you told me that.
FITZSIMMONS. [Gruffly.] Forget it. [He looks on table, and fails to
find cigarette case. Looks at her suspiciously, then crosses to desk at
right and reaches for telephone.]
MAUD. [Curiously.] What are you going to do?
FITZSIMMONS. Call the police.
MAUD. What for?
FITZSIMMONS. For you.
MAUD. For me?
FITZSIMMONS. You are not Harry Jones. And not only are you an impostor,
but you are a thief.
MAUD. [Indignantly.] How dare you?
FITZSIMMONS. You have stolen my cigarette case.
MAUD. [Remembering and taken aback, pulls out cigarette case.] Here it
is.
FITZSIMMONS. Too late. It won't save you. This club must be kept
respectable. Thieves cannot be tolerated.
MAUD. [Growing alarm.] But you won't have me arrested?
FITZSIMMONS. I certainly will.
MAUD. [Pleadingly.] Please! Please!
FITZSIMMONS. [Obdurately.] I see no reason why I should not.
MAUD. [Hurriedly, in a panic.] I'll give you a reason--a--a good one.
I--I--am not Harry Jones.
FITZSIMMONS. [Grimly.] A good reason in itself to call in the police.
MAUD. That isn't the reason. I'm--a--Oh! I'm so ashamed.
FITZSIMMONS. [Sternly.] I should say you ought to be. [Reaches for
telephone receiver.]
MAUD. [In rush of desperation.] Stop! I'm a--I'm a--a girl. There!
[Sinks down in chair, burying her face in her hands.]
[FITZSIMMONS, hanging up receiver, grunts.]
[MAUD removes hands and looks at him indignantly. As she speaks her
indignation grows.]
MAUD. I only wanted your cigarette case to prove to my brother that I
had been here. I--I'm Maud Sylvester, and you never took me out once.
And I'm not a black sheep. And I don't dress loudly, and I haven't a--a
tapeworm.
FITZSIMMONS. [Grinning and pulling out card from vest pocket.] I knew
you were Miss Sylvester all the time.
MAUD. Oh! You brute! I'll never speak to you again.
FITZSIMMONS. [Gently.] You'll let me see you safely out of here.
MAUD. [Relenting.] Ye-e-s. [She rises, crosses to table, and is about
to stoop for motor cloak and bonnet, but he forestall her, holds cloak
and helps her into it.] Thank you. [She takes off wig, fluffs her own
hair becomingly, and puts on bonnet, looking every inch a pretty young
girl, ready for an automobile ride.]
FITZSIMMONS. [Who, all the time, watching her transformation, has been
growing bashful, now handing her the cigarette case.] Here's the
cigarette case. You may k-k-keep it.
MAUD. [Looking at him, hesitates, then takes it.] I thank you--er--Bob.
I shall treasure it all my life. [He is very embarrassed.] Why, I do
believe you're bashful. What is the matter?
FITZSIMMONS. [Stammering.] Why--I--you--You are a girl--and--a--a--deuced
pretty one.
MAUD. [Taking his arm, ready to start for door.] But you knew it all
along.
FITZSIMMONS. But it's somehow different now when you've got your girl's
clothes on.
MAUD. But you weren't a bit bashful--or nice, when--you--you--[Blurting
it out.] Were so anxious about birth marks.
[They start to make exit.]