I
A committee from the Phoenix Athletic
Club and one from the Prescott Club had met, and after
considerable discussion had arranged a match to decide
the Amateur Championship of Arizona.
As the Phoenix and Prescott clubs
were far and away the foremost athletic organizations
in the Territory, the contest was looked forward to
with a great interest, especially as an intense rivalry
existed between the two cities.
“Let the contest be fair and
square on both sides,” said Smith, the chairman
of the Phoenix committee. “Let each club
send its best man, who is strictly an amateur, of
course, and a member of the club, in good standing,
and let the best man win.”
“Them’s my sentiments
exactly,” responded Johnson, the chairman of
the Prescott committee. “Fair play and
honors to the best man, say I! I did think of
sending a young fellow I know in our club who took
some sparring lessons in ’Frisco last year,
and is quite clever; he’s a gunsmith by profession,
but the trouble is he has been teaching the boys during
his spare time when he could get away from the shop,
and that makes him a professional, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” said Smith,
“and I am glad to find you are as particular
as I am in such matters; let me tell you, it is a
pleasure to meet a man like yourself who tries to
be fair and square, and to take no advantage of anybody.
Let’s take something.”
During the next few days there were
anxious meetings of the committees in charge of the
arrangements. A certain man well up in sporting
matters went to ’Frisco as a committee of one,
representing the Prescott Club, to hunt for talent;
at the same time a brother of the chairman of the
Phoenix committee, who kept a bar-room in Chicago,
received a letter which caused considerable discussion
between him and his partner, and several interviews
with a certain short-haired, thick-set individual
who frequented his place.
“What I want,” said the
letter, “is the best man you can get. Some
one who is a sure winner, and can punch the stuffing
out of this amateur duck from Prescott. Don’t
make a mistake, and do not spare money. Get a
star, as the boys will bet all they have on him, and
we do not want to take any chances.”
The following week the chairman of
the committee of the Phoenix organization received
a letter from his brother in Chicago, which informed
him that for two hundred dollars, and expenses, they
had secured the services of a well-known professional,
but one who had never been West, and who, they were
sure, could “lick” anything which could
be produced, professional or amateur, on the Pacific
Coast. He had commenced training, and they could
rest easy, and bet as much money as they wanted to.
Meanwhile the Prescott Club’s
representative had made a rich find in San Francisco,
in the shape of an Australian professional who had
just landed and was therefore not likely to be recognized.
He had a record of numerous victories in his own country,
and cheerfully undertook, for the sum of seventy-five
dollars, “to knock the bloomin’ head off
any bloomin’ duffer,” anywhere near his
own weight, that might be brought against him.
Things went along merrily, letters
were exchanged between the chairman of the two committees
reporting as to the progress of their representatives.
“Our young man,” wrote
the Prescott leader, “is doing very well, and
I hope great things from him. Naturally we want
to win, and have secured the best man of good amateur
standing in our town to represent us. He is a
drug clerk, and his mother objected pretty strongly
at first, but she has been talked over. There
will be a party of at least one hundred of us go down
with him, and I hope you will have front seats reserved
for us. Most of the boys feel inclined to wager
a little on the success of our representative, but
he himself does not feel very confident of the result.
Upon my return I found quite a strong feeling in favor
of having the young gunsmith represent us, but, after
my conversation with you, could not for a moment countenance
any such proceedings on our part.”
Two nights following, the Prescott
chairman read the following letter in answer to the
one which he had sent:
To R. W. Johnson, ESQ.,
Chairman of the Committee
for the Prescott Athletic Club,
Prescott, Arizona:
Dear sir:
I am glad to hear that there is considerable
interest taken in the forthcoming match.
Boxing is a noble
art, and this coming contest will no doubt help
to boom both
our clubs. There is a great interest taken
here in the match,
and I warn you our man is getting himself in the
very best
condition possible. He is nervous, of course,
this being his
first appearance in an affair of this kind.
He is a clerk in
a bank, who has lately been engaged by my friend
Robinson,
and therefore does not get as much time for exercise
as
perhaps would be wise, but Robinson is an enthusiastic
sport,
as you know, and has arranged to let him get off
several
hours each day. We look forward to a great
contest, and I
certainly feel that the winner may fully consider
himself the
Amateur Champion of the Territory. We shall
take great
satisfaction in reserving the one hundred seats
you ask for.
I think you will find all the money ready for
you in the way
of bets that you will want. Our population
is made up a great
deal, as you know, largely of miners and ranchers,
and they
are inclined to bet recklessly. I cannot
close without
congratulating the Prescott Athletic Club for
the energy and
enterprise they have shown in this matter.
May the best man
win!
Yours,
etc.,
J.
Smith.
II
There was a great crowd packed into
the ring of the Phoenix Athletic Association on the
evening of the contest. Seats were at a premium,
and the fight had been the principal subject of conversation
for days. The two principals had met and been
introduced to one another, just before going to the
scene of the contest. Both were dressed for the
occasion, and I tell you they were sights! The
bank clerk had on a collar so high that he could hardly
turn his head, a high silk hat, long black frock-coat,
and an immense white rose in his buttonhole.
The Prescott drug clerk was still
more gorgeous. Besides a buttonhole bouquet and
high collar, he sported an eye-glass, and smoked a
cigarette while in the presence of his opponent.
“‘Ow’s yer bloomin’
’ealth?” remarked the drug clerk.
“Hi ’opes as ’ow yer fit.”
“Ah-h-h, go arn,” answered
the embryo financier, using only one side of his mouth,
“don’t try ter jolly me, yer sage-brush
dude, or I’ll give yer a poke right here.”
Several members of the committee hastened
to interfere, and put a stop to all further danger
of trouble by hurrying the principals off to their
dressing-rooms to prepare for the contest.
In the ante-room Smith hugged Robinson,
and nearly wept with joy when they were alone.
“Did you take a good look at
the stiff?” he gasped. “Why, our man
will punch daylight out of him in two minutes after
the gong sounds! Why, I say this is wrong it
is too easy; I really feel sorry for these Prescott
chaps!”
Robinson chuckled and muttered something
about “fools and their money being soon parted,”
and then the two worthies repaired to the ringside.
Smith was to be Master of the Ceremonies,
and climbing upon the raised platform he crawled through
the ropes, and after looking about him for a moment,
raised his hands to enjoin silence.
“Gentlemen,” he said,
“I must beg you all to stop smoking. The
contest which is to be held here to-night is to decide
the Amateur Championship of the Territory of Arizona.
Nothing is more calculated to incite among our younger
men the love for athletic sports than such competitions,
when conducted in a fair and sportsmanlike manner.
I must beg of you not to allow yourselves to be biased
towards indulging in any unseemly noise in case your
favorite should be worsted. What we want is a
fair field and no favoritism, and while we hope our
boy will win, none of you, I am sure, would wish in
any way to feel that either man was given any undue
advantage. The men will fight with 3-oz. gloves,
Marquis of Queensbury rules, three minutes to each
round, with a minute’s rest between. A
man down to get up inside of ten seconds or be counted
out. No hitting in the clinches. Many of
you are acquainted with the gentlemen who are our
representatives this evening, but for the benefit
of those who are not I will introduce them.”
Waving his hand towards the Prescott pugilist, he
said:
“This is Alexander Harrington,
amateur champion of the Prescott Athletic Club, who
is, I may say, by profession a popular druggist in
the town from which he comes. [Considerable applause.]
“And this,” he continued,
pointing to the man who represented the Phoenix Club,
“is J. Francis Livingstone, a young man who has
shown himself to be a good exponent of the noble art,
and who is deemed to be the amateur champion of the
Phoenix Athletic Association. As he has only
lately arrived, and is not very well known to many
of you, I may add that he is a personal friend of
our Vice-president, Mr. Robinson, and is employed
at his bank. [Wild enthusiasm.] As there can be no
question as to the amateur standing of the gentlemen,
I will again beg of you to treat both men with equal
favor, and will ask the Referee to call time!”
The seconds at this climbed down from
the ringside, shoving their stools out under the ropes,
and the two athletes, throwing aside their bath robes,
stood up in their corners, each stripped to the buff,
with the exception of tight trunks and canvas shoes.
A roar of admiration and astonishment went up as the
bank clerk first exposed himself, and Robinson grinned
at Smith across the ring as the splendid exhibition
of muscle was exhibited. It was evident that
the bank clerk had not devoted all his time to banking;
he was apparently as fit as a race-horse, and the
muscles of his back and arms twisted and rolled about
like snakes, at every movement.
But Robinson’s expression altered
somewhat as he glanced at the drug clerk. That
individual was somewhat shorter than his opponent,
but if the banking representative was well developed,
he of the pharmaceutical persuasion was magnificent.
Both men had been fanned and washed,
their gloves carefully tied on, and they now stood
rubbing their shoes on some powdered rosin which was
scattered about the corners, eyeing each other intently.
What they thought will probably never be given to
the public, but there is no doubt that each must have
experienced a feeling of surprise at the physical
condition of his opponent. This did not affect
them in the least, however, as they were both as anxious
to begin as bull-dogs, and when time was called and
the gong rang, they danced to the middle and commenced
sparring for an opening, grinning with confidence.
For the first minute or two nothing
was done. Forward and back they moved, their
arms moving in and out, each with his eyes fixed on
the face of his opponent, watching closely for an
opening. Then the bank clerk jumped in and led
one, two, without effect, for his first blow was neatly
guarded and the second brought a vicious cross-counter
in return, which grazed his nose as he got back out
of the way. In came the drug clerk with a rush,
and they closed just as the gong sounded which ended
the round.
Up through the ropes came the seconds
with the activity of a lot of monkeys, and the two
men were hurriedly seated upon stools and each was
fanned furiously with a towel by one second, while
the other bathed his neck and face with cold water.
A hum of conversation arose.
“Who is the blooming duck?”
whispered the druggist to his principal second. “’E
ain’t no bleeding dude, I can tell yer.”
But before the man had time to reply,
the gong sounded the call of “time,” and
the men sprang forward to the middle of the ring.
There was no sparring this time they
went at it biff, bang, right and left, sending in
their blows with all the power of their muscular bodies.
The Referee, almost dancing with excitement, shouted
to them to “break away,” and tried to
part them when they clinched, but they were no sooner
separated than they closed again, fighting with the
energy and tenacity of bull-dogs.
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.