Pat, with his hand on the door-knob, paused and turned around.
“To the Academy of Sciences,” he said. “There’s a professor who’s going to give a lecture there on Browning to-night, and Browning is the sort of writer you need assistance with. Sometimes I think I ought to go to night school.”
“But great Scott, man!” exclaimed the horrified1 manager. “You’re on with the Flying Dutchman to-night.”
“I know it. But I won’t enter the ring a moment before half past nine or quarter to ten. The lecture will be over at [55]nine fifteen. If you want to make sure, come around and pick me up in your machine.”
Stubener shrugged2 his shoulders helplessly.
“You’ve got no kick coming,” Pat assured him. “Dad used to tell me a man’s worst time was in the hours just before a fight, and that many a fight was lost by a man’s breaking down right there, with nothing to do but think and be anxious. Well, you’ll never need to worry about me that way. You ought to be glad I can go off to a lecture.”
And later that night, in the course of watching fifteen splendid rounds, Stubener chuckled3 to himself more than once at the idea of what that audience of sports would think, did it know that this magnificent young prize-fighter had come to the ring directly from a Browning lecture. [56]
The Flying Dutchman was a young Swede who possessed4 an unwonted willingness to fight and who was blessed with phenomenal endurance. He never rested, was always on the offensive, and rushed and fought from gong to gong. In the out-fighting his arms whirled about like flails5, in the in-fighting he was forever shouldering or half-wrestling and starting blows whenever he could get a hand free. From start to finish he was a whirlwind, hence his name. His failing was lack of judgment6 in time and distance. Nevertheless he had won many fights by virtue7 of landing one in each dozen or so of the unending fusillades of punches he delivered. Pat, with strong upon him the caution that he must not put his opponent out, was kept busy. Nor, though he escaped vital damage, could he avoid entirely8 those eternal flying gloves. But it was good training, [57]and in a mild way he enjoyed the contest.
“Could you get him now?” Stubener whispered in his ear during the minute rest at the end of the fifth round.
“Sure,” was Pat’s answer.
“You know he’s never yet been knocked out by any one,” Stubener warned a couple of rounds later.
“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to break my knuckles10,” Pat smiled. “I know the punch I’ve got in me, and when I land it something’s got to go. If he won’t, my knuckles will.”
“Do you think you could get him now?” Stubener asked at the end of the thirteenth round.
“Anytime, I tell you.”
“Well, then, Pat, let him run to the fifteenth.”
In the fourteenth round the Flying Dutchman exceeded himself. At the [58]stroke of the gong he rushed clear across the ring to the opposite corner where Pat was leisurely12 getting to his feet. The house cheered, for it knew the Flying Dutchman had cut loose. Pat, catching13 the fun of it, whimsically decided14 to meet the terrific onslaught with a wholly passive defense15 and not to strike a blow. Nor did he strike a blow, nor feint a blow, during the three minutes of whirlwind that followed. He gave a rare exhibition of stalling, sometimes hugging his bowed face with his left arm, his abdomen16 with his right; at other times, changing as the point of attack changed, so that both gloves were held on either side his face, or both elbows and forearms guarded his mid-section; and all the time moving about, clumsily shouldering, or half-falling forward against his opponent and clogging17 his efforts; himself never striking nor threatening to strike, the while [59]rocking with the impacts of the storming blows that beat upon his various guards the devil’s own tattoo18.
Those close at the ringside saw and appreciated, but the rest of the audience, fooled, arose to its feet and roared its applause in the mistaken notion that Pat, helpless, was receiving a terrible beating. With the end of the round, the audience, dumbfounded, sank back into its seats as Pat walked steadily19 to his corner. It was not understandable. He should have been beaten to a pulp20, and yet nothing had happened to him.
“Now are you going to get him?” Stubener queried21 anxiously.
“Inside ten seconds,” was Pat’s confident assertion. “Watch me.”
There was no trick about it. When the gong struck and Pat bounded to his feet, he advertised it unmistakably that for the first time in the fight he was starting [60]after his man. Not one onlooker22 misunderstood. The Flying Dutchman read the advertisement, too, and for the first time in his career, as they met in the center of the ring, visibly hesitated. For the fraction of a second they faced each other in position. Then the Flying Dutchman leaped forward upon his man, and Pat, with a timed right-cross, dropped him cold as he leaped.
It was after this battle that Pat Glendon started on his upward rush to fame. The sports and the sporting writers took him up. For the first time the Flying Dutchman had been knocked out. His conqueror23 had proved a wizard of defense. His previous victories had not been flukes. He had a kick in both his hands. Giant that he was, he would go far. The time was already past, the writers asserted, for him to waste himself on the third-raters and chopping [61]blocks. Where were Ben Menzies, Rege Rede, Bill Tarwater, and Ernest Lawson? It was time for them to meet this young cub24 that had suddenly shown himself a fighter of quality. Where was his manager anyway, that he was not issuing the challenges?
And then fame came in a day; for Stubener divulged25 the secret that his man was none other than the son of Pat Glendon, Old Pat, the old-time ring hero. “Young” Pat Glendon, he was promptly26 christened, and sports and writers flocked about him to admire him, and back him, and write him up.
Beginning with Ben Menzies and finishing with Bill Tarwater, he challenged, fought, and knocked out the four second-raters. To do this, he was compelled to travel, the battles taking place in Goldfield, Denver, Texas, and New York. To accomplish it required months, [62]for the bigger fights were not easily arranged, and the men themselves demanded more time for training.
The second year saw him running to cover and disposing of the half-dozen big fighters that clustered just beneath the top of the heavyweight ladder. On this top, firmly planted, stood “Big” Jim Hanford, the undefeated world champion. Here, on the top rungs, progress was slower, though Stubener was indefatigable27 in issuing challenges and in promoting sporting opinion to force the man to fight. Will King was disposed of in England, and Glendon pursued Tom Harrison half way around the world to defeat him on Boxing Day in Australia.
But the purses grew larger and larger. In place of a hundred dollars, such as his first battles had earned him, he was now receiving from twenty to thirty thousand dollars a fight, as well as equally large [63]sums from the moving picture men. Stubener took his manager’s percentage of all this, according to the terms of the contract old Pat had drawn28 up, and both he and Glendon, despite their heavy expenses, were waxing rich. This was due, more than anything else, to the clean lives they lived. They were not wasters.
Stubener was attracted to real estate, and his holdings in San Francisco, consisting of building flats and apartment houses, were bigger than Glendon ever dreamed. There was a secret syndicate of bettors, however, which could have made an accurate guess at the size of Stubener’s holdings, while heavy bonus after heavy bonus, of which Glendon never heard, was paid over to his manager by the moving picture men.
Stubener’s most serious task was in maintaining the innocence29 of his young gladiator. Nor did he find it difficult. [64]Glendon, who had nothing to do with the business end, was little interested. Besides, wherever his travels took him, he spent his spare time in hunting and fishing. He rarely mingled30 with those of the sporting world, was notoriously shy and secluded31, and preferred art galleries and books of verse to sporting gossip. Also, his trainers and sparring partners were rigorously instructed by the manager to keep their tongues away from the slightest hints of ring rottenness. In every way Stubener intervened between Glendon and the world. He was never even interviewed save in Stubener’s presence.
Only once was Glendon approached. It was just prior to his battle with Henderson, and an offer of a hundred thousand was made to him to throw the fight. It was made hurriedly, in swift whispers, in a hotel corridor, and it was fortunate for the man that Pat controlled his temper [65]and shouldered past him without reply. He brought the tale of it to Stubener, who said:
“It’s only con9, Pat. They were trying to josh you.” He noted32 the blue eyes blaze. “And maybe worse than that. If they could have got you to fall for it, there might have been a big sensation in the papers that would have finished you. But I doubt it. Such things don’t happen any more. It’s a myth, that’s what it is, that has come down from the middle history of the ring. There has been rottenness in the past, but no fighter or manager of reputation would dare anything of the sort to-day. Why, Pat, the men in the game are as clean and straight as those in professional baseball, than which there is nothing cleaner or straighter.”
And all the while he talked, Stubener knew in his heart that the forthcoming fight with Henderson was not to be [66]shorter than twelve rounds—this for the moving pictures—and not longer than the fourteenth round. And he knew, furthermore, so big were the stakes involved, that Henderson himself was pledged not to last beyond the fourteenth.
And Glendon, never approached again, dismissed the matter from his mind and went out to spend the afternoon in taking color photographs. The camera had become his latest hobby. Loving pictures, yet unable to paint, he had compromised by taking up photography. In his hand baggage was one grip packed with books on the subject, and he spent long hours in the dark room, realizing for himself the various processes. Never had there been a great fighter who was as aloof33 from the fighting world as he. Because he had little to say with those he encountered, he was called sullen34 and unsocial, [67]and out of this a newspaper reputation took form that was not an exaggeration so much as it was an entire misconception. Boiled down, his character in print was that of an ox-muscled and dumbly stupid brute35, and one callow sporting writer dubbed36 him the “abysmal37 brute.” The name stuck. The rest of the fraternity hailed it with delight, and thereafter Glendon’s name never appeared in print unconnected with it. Often, in a headline or under a photograph, “The Abysmal Brute,” capitalized and without quotation38 marks, appeared alone. All the world knew who was this brute. This made him draw into himself closer than ever, while it developed a bitter prejudice against newspaper folk.
Regarding fighting itself, his earlier mild interest grew stronger. The men he now fought were anything but dubs39, and victory did not come so easily. They [68]were picked men, experienced ring generals, and each battle was a problem. There were occasions when he found it impossible to put them out in any designated later round of a fight. Thus, with Sulzberger, the gigantic German, try as he would in the eighteenth round, he failed to get him, in the nineteenth it was the same story, and not till the twentieth did he manage to break through the baffling guard and drop him. Glendon’s increasing enjoyment40 of the game was accompanied by severer and prolonged training. Never dissipating, spending much of his time on hunting trips in the hills, he was practically always in the pink of condition, and, unlike his father, no unfortunate accidents marred41 his career. He never broke a bone, nor injured so much as a knuckle11. One thing that Stubener noted with secret glee was that his young fighter no [69]longer talked of going permanently42 back to his mountains when he had won the championship away from Jim Hanford.
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1
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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flails
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| v.鞭打( flail的第三人称单数 )；用连枷脱粒；（臂或腿）无法控制地乱动；扫雷坦克 | |
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6
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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10
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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abdomen
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| n.腹，下腹(胸部到腿部的部分) | |
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clogging
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| 堵塞，闭合 | |
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tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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onlooker
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| n.旁观者，观众 | |
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conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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cub
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| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
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divulged
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| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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30
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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36
dubbed
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| v.给…起绰号( dub的过去式和过去分词 )；把…称为；配音；复制 | |
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37
abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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38
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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39
dubs
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| v.给…起绰号( dub的第三人称单数 )；把…称为；配音；复制 | |
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40
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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41
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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42
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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