PAGE 4
The Amateur Championship
by
Just before time was up, the drug clerk swung his right and caught the gentleman of finance fair and square on the nose, with the result that Prescott was awarded first blood and first knock-down, amid great excitement.
During the one minute’s rest the seconds did wonders. The men were sponged and rubbed, while fanned constantly with a large towel, water was squirted on their heads and the back of their necks, and at the sound of the gong each arose from his stool looking as fresh as at the start.
Round 3 opened as though it would be a repetition of the hurricane style of fighting of the previous round, but after a clinch or two and giving and receiving a few good blows, the men kept apart and fought more warily. Each had evidently become satisfied that the other was not quite the easy victim he had expected; and as this conviction gradually dawned upon them they dropped the rough and tumble style and fought with more skill and caution, each watching and waiting for an opening, hoping for a chance for a “knock-out,” but none came, and the round closed with honors even.
During the intermission Watkins, the sheriff, who was acting as Referee, talked earnestly with a friend, and from time to time looked hard at the drug clerk. He turned towards the time-keeper and seemed about to say something, when the bell rang and the men were again in the middle of the ring.
Round 4 had commenced.
They were both fresh and eager, but business was written all over their hard faces,–they were not smiling now. Round and round they moved, constantly facing each other, their arms moving back and forth like a machine. Now and then one or the other would make a quick feint or move, and the other would spring back with the agility of a dancing-master.
Suddenly the financier thought he saw an opening, and let go his left, but was short, and received a counter in return which sounded all over the place; then they went at it hammer and tongs and kept the Referee very busy separating them, and making them fight fair. Questionable prize-ring methods were resorted to by both men, and the knowledge shown by these amateurs of the little unfair tricks of the professional prize-fighter was astonishing. The bank clerk took especial pains to stick his thumb in his opponent’s eye whenever they clinched, and the compounder of drugs used his head and elbow in a way which is frowned upon by advocates of fair play.
The men were fighting hard and fast when the round ended. Every man in the crowd was on his feet yelling like a hyena, as they went to their corners. Referee Watkins walked to the side of the ring, and raising his hand to enjoin silence, stood waiting for the uproar to subside. At last, when he could be heard, he addressed the crowd as follows:
“Gentlemen, I am sorry to stop this fight, but I must do it. These men are supposed to be fightin’ for the Amatoor Champeenship of the Territory. Whether this is a put-up job or not, I do not know, but I do know that the Prescott man is a professional pug, lately arrived from Australia. I suspected him from the first. From the way he acted I was pretty blamed sure he was no drug clerk and my friend here, Jim Sweeney, swears he knows him, and that he was called the ‘Ballarat Boy’ when he saw him fight in Australia, some seven months ago. I can’t let this thing go on, and have honest men lose their money. I am not dead sure in my mind that the other man isn’t a ringer; he is a damned sight too good for an amatoor; but that cuts no ice. This fight stops right now. It’s a draw, and all bets are off.”
There was a tremendous row, but the pugilists were hurried off to their respective dressing-rooms, and the crowd slowly left the building. On the steps outside, Johnson, the chairman of the Prescott Athletic Club, met Smith, and, going up to him, he offered him his hand.
“Smith,” said he, “I want to tell you how pained I am that the affair ended as it did. You, of course, do not for a moment suspect that any of us knew our man was a professional. How he could deceive us I cannot understand. Why, I was never more fooled in my life!”
Smith shook hands heartily. “Don’t say a word, Johnson; the best of us are often deceived, and the more pure our motives are the easier it is to fool us.”
“That’s so.”
They walked on in silence for a short distance.
“Smith.”
“Hallo.”
“Pity they stopped it; it was a lovely scrap while it lasted.”
“That’s what it was,” said Smith.