Part 17 (1/2)

Jarvis, he kind of colored up at that, but he didn't go off his nut. ”I beg pardon,” says he; ”but I have an idea, you know, that it wouldn't be so one-sided as you think.”

Well, say, I've made lots of easy money off'n ideas just like that, and when it was put up to me as a personal favor to do it, I couldn't renig.

It did go against the grain to play myself for a longshot, though; but Jarvis wouldn't listen to anything else, claimin' his weight and reach made it an even thing. So I takes him on, an' we bills the go for the next afternoon.

”I may have to bring up Swifty Joe for a bottle-holder,” says I, ”an'

Swifty ain't just what you'd call parlor broke.”

”All the better for that,” says Jarvis. ”And I'd be much obliged if you'd find another like him for my corner.”

Course, there's only one Swifty. He's got a bent-in nose, an' a lop ear, an' a jaw like a hippo. He's won more bouts by scarin' his man stiff than any plug in the business. He'd been a champ long ago, if it wa'n't for a chunk of yellow in him as big as a grape fruit. No, I couldn't match up Swifty. I done the next best thing, though; I sent for Gorilla Quigley, and gets Mike Slattery to hold the watch on us.

Mike gets the hint that this was a swell joint we was goin' to; so he shows up in South Brooklyn evenin' dress--plug hat, striped s.h.i.+rt, and sack coat. I makes him chuck the linen for a sweater; but I couldn't separate him from the s.h.i.+ny top piece. The Gorilla always wears a swimmin' jersey with a celluloid d.i.c.ky; so he pa.s.ses muster.

Anyways, when old Knee Pants, the Blenmont butler, sees us lined up at the front entrance, we had him pop-eyed. He was goin' to ring up the police reserves, when Mr. Jarvis comes out and pa.s.ses us in.

”They're a group of forty-nine per cents.,” says I; ”but you said you wanted that kind.”

”It's all right,” says he. ”I've explained to the ladies that a few of my friends interested in physical culture were coming up to-day, and that perhaps they'd better stay out; but they'll be there just the same.”

He'd got 'em right, too. Just as we'd fixed the ropes, and got out the pails and towels, in they floats; mother beamin' away like a head-light, sister all fixed ready to blow bubbles, and the Lady Evelyn with her nose stickin' up in the air.

”Professor, will you do the honors?” says Jarvis to me.

And I did 'em. ”Ladies,” says I, ”lemme put you next to some sure-fire talent. This gent with the ingrowin' Roman nose-piece is me a.s.sistant Swifty Joe Gallagher. He's just as han'some as he looks.”

”Aw, cut it out!” says Swifty.

”Back under the sink with the rest of the pipes,” says I, out of the side of my mouth. Then I does another duck. ”And this here gooseb'ry blond in the Alice-blue jersey, is Mr. Gorilla Quigley, that put Gans out once--all but. The other gent you may have met before, seein' as he's from one of the first families of Brooklyn--lives under the bridge.

His name's Mike Slattery. Now, if you'll excuse us, we'll get busy.”

As I takes my corner, I could see mother beginnin' to look worried; but sister opens a box of chocolate creams and prepares to have the time of her life. Lady Evelyn springs her lorgnette and sizes us up like we was a bunch of Buffalo Bill Indians just off the reservation.

I'd forgot to tip off Slattery that there wasn't any postprandials expected of him; so the first thing I knew he was makin' his little ring speech, just the same's if he was announcin' events at the Never Die Athletic club.

”Now gents--and ladies,” says he, ”this is a five-round go for a stay, between Professor Shorty McCabe, ex-light-weight champeen of the world, and another gent what goes on the cards as an unknown. It's catch weights, an' the winner pulls down the whole basket of greens. There ain't goin' to be no hittin' after the clinch, and if there's any fouls, you leave it to me. Don't come b.u.t.tin' in. It's been put up to me to keep time an' referee this mix-up, and I don't want no help. You bottle-holders stay in your corners till the count's over. Now are you ready? Then go!”

There was a squeal or two when we sheds our bath-robes and steps to the middle, and I guesses that the ladies was gettin' their first view of ring clothes. But I wasn't lookin' anywhere but at Jarvis. And say, he would have made a hit anywhere. He had just paddin' enough to round him out well, and not so much as to make him look ladyfied. Course, he was a good many pounds over-weight for the job he'd tackled, but he'd have looked mighty well on a poster. Honest, it seemed a shame to have to muss him.

Jarvis wa'n't there to stand in the lime-light, though. He went right to work as though he meant business. I'd kind of figured on lettin' him have his own way for a couple of rounds, takin' it easy, an' jockeyin'

him into making a showin'; but the first thing I knows he lands a right swing that near lifts me off my feet, an' Swifty sings out to me to stop my kiddin'.

”Beg pardon,” says Jarvis; ”but I'm after that fifty.”

”If I'd had a putty jaw, you'd got it then,” says I. ”Here's the twin to that.”

But my swipe didn't reach him by an inch, and the best I could do was to swap half-arm jolts until I'd got steadied down again. Well say, I wasn't more'n an hour findin' out that I couldn't monkey much with Jarvis. He knew how to let his weight follow the glove, and he blocked as pretty as if he was punchin' the bag.

”You didn't learn that in no college,” says I, fiddlin' for a place to plant my left.

”You're quite right,” says he, and bores in like a snow-plough.