I said, “You mean—?”
He took hold of my arm to start me walking again. “Maybe I overmatched you this time, Kid. This sailor’s pretty good. He can box and he hits a lot harder than anybody you been up against so far.” “Oh, I’ll be all right,” I said.
“Maybe,” he said, scowling straight ahead. “Listen, what do you think about what Pete said about you needing more boxing?”
“I don’t know. I don’t ever pay any attention much to what anybody says but you.”
“Well, what do you think about it now?” he asked. “Sure, I’d like to learn to box better, I guess.” He grinned at me without moving his lips much. “You’re liable to get some fine lessons from this Sailor whether you want ’em or not. But no kidding, suppose I told you to box him instead of tearing in, would you do it? I mean for the experience, even if you didn’t make much of a showing
that way.”
I said, “Don’t I always fight the way you tell me?” “Sure you do. But suppose it meant maybe losing this
once but learning something?”
“I want to win, of course,” I said, “but I’ll do anything you tell me. Do you want me to fight him that way?” “I don’t know,” he said. “We’ll see.” Friday and Saturday I just loafed around. Friday I tried to find somebody to go out and shoot pheasants with but all I could find was Bob Kirby and I was tired of listening to him make the same jokes over and over, so I changed my mind and stayed home.
Loney came home for supper and I asked him what the odds were on our fight.
He said, “Even money. You got a lot of friends.” “Are we betting?” I asked.
“Not yet. Maybe if the price gets better. I don’t know.” I wished he had not been so afraid I was going to lose but I thought it might sound kind of conceited if I said anything about it, so I just went on eating.
We had a swell house that Saturday night. The armory was packed and we got a pretty good hand when we went in the ring. I felt fine and I guess Dick Cohen, who was going to be in my corner with Loney, felt fine too, because he looked like he was trying to keep from grinning. Only Loney looked kind of worried, not enough that you would notice it unless you knew him as well as I did, but I could
notice it.
“I’m all right,” I told him. A lot of fighters say they feel uncomfortable waiting for their fight to start but I always feel fine.
Loney said, “Sure you are,” and slapped me on my back. “Listen, Kid,” he said, and cleared his throat. He put his mouth over close to my ear so nobody else would hear
him. “Listen, Kid, maybe — maybe you better box him like
we said. O. K.?”
I said, “O.K.”
“And don’t let those mugs out front yell you into anything. You’re doing the fighting up there.” I said, “O. K.”
The first couple of rounds were kind of fun in a way because this was new stuff to me, this moving around him on my toes and going in and out with my hands high. Of course I had done some of that with fellows in the gym but not in the ring before and not with anybody that was as good at it as he was. He was pretty good and had it all over me both of those rounds but nobody hurt anybody else.
But in the first minute of the third he got to my jaw with a honey of a right cross and then whammed me in the body twice fast with his left. Pete and Loney had not been kidding when they said he could hit. I forgot about boxing and went in pumping with both hands, driving him all the way across the ring before he tied me up in a clinch. Everybody yelled so I guess it looked pretty good but I only really hit him once; he took the rest of them on his arms. He was the smartest fighter I had ever been up