October 6, 2025 • 43 mins
13 - Strange Behaviour of a Sparring-Partner. The Adventures of Sally by P. G. Wodehouse.
This romantic comedy stars a young American girl named Sally, who inherits a considerable fortune and finds her life turned upside down. The typically Wodehouseian cast includes Sally's ambitious brother, an assortment of theater people, a pair of English cousins, and, of course, an Uncle. It's jolly good fun!
This romantic comedy stars a young American girl named Sally, who inherits a considerable fortune and finds her life turned upside down. The typically Wodehouseian cast includes Sally's ambitious brother, an assortment of theater people, a pair of English cousins, and, of course, an Uncle. It's jolly good fun!
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Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter thirteen of the Adventures of Sallie. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
The Adventures of Sallie by P. G. Woodhouse, Chapter thirteen,
(00:21):
Strange behavior of a sparring partner one. Sallie's emotions as
she sat in her apartment on the morning of her
return to New York resembled somewhat those of a swimmer who,
after wavering on a raw morning at the brink of
(00:41):
a chill pool, nerves himself to the plunge she was aching.
But she knew that she had done well. If she
wanted happiness, she must fight for it. And for all
these months she had been shirking the fight. She had
done with wavering on the brink, and here she was
in mid stream, ready for or whatever might befall. It
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hurt this coming to grips. She had expected it to hurt,
but it was a pain that stimulated, not a dull
melancholy that smothered. She felt alive and defiant. She had
finished unpacking and tidying up. The next move was certainly
to go and see Ginger. She had suddenly become aware
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that she wanted very badly to see Ginger. His stolid
friendliness would be a support and a prop She wished
now that she had sent him a cable so that
he could have met her at the dock. It had
been rather terrible at the dock. The echoing customs sheds
had sapped her valor, and she felt alone and forlorn.
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She looked at her watch and was surprised to find
how early it was. She could catch him at the
office and make him take her out to lunch. She
put on her hat and went out. The restless hand
of change, always active in New York, had not spared
the outer office of the Fillmore Nicholas Theatrical Enterprises Limited
in the months of her absence. She was greeted on
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her arrival by Anne, entirely new and original stripling in
place of the one with whom at her last visit
she had established such cordial relations. Like his predecessor, he
was generously pimpled, but there the resemblance stopped. He was
a grim boy, and his manner was stern and suspicious.
(02:29):
He peered narrowly at Sallie for a moment, as if
he had caught her in the act of purloining the
office blotting paper. Then, with no little acerbity, desired her
to state her business. I want, mister Kemp, said Sallie.
The office boy scratched his cheek dourly with a ruler.
No one would have guessed so austere was his aspect
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that a moment before her entrance he had been trying
to balance it on his chin, juggling the while with
a pair of paper weights for impervious, as he seemed
to human weaknesses. It was this lad's ambition one day
to go into vaudeville. What name, he said, coldly. Nicholas said, Sallie,
I am mister Nicholas's sister. On a previous occasion, when
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she had made this announcement, disastrous results had ensued, But
to day it went well. It seemed to hit the
office boy like a bullet. He started convulsively, opened his
mouth and dropped the ruler. In the interval of stooping
and recovering it, he was able to pull himself together.
He had not been curious about Sallie's name. What he
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had wished was to have the name of the person
for whom she was asking repeated. He now perceived that
he had had a bit of luck. A wearying period
of disappointment in the matter of keeping the paper weights
circulating while balancing the ruler had left him peevish, and
it had been his intention to work off his ill
humor on the young visitor. The discovery that it was
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the boss's sister who was taking up his time suggested
the advisability of a radical change of tactics. He had
stooped with a frown. He returned to the perpendicular with
a smile that was positively winning. It was like the
sun suddenly bursting through a London fog. Will you take
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a seat, lady, he said, with polished courtesy, even unbending
so far as to reach out and dust one with
the sleeve of his coat. He added that the morning
was a fine one, Thank you, said Sally. Will you
tell him I'm here. Mister Nicholas is out, miss, said
the office boy with gentlemanly regret. He's back in New York,
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but he's gone out. I don't want mister Nicholas. I
want mister Kemp. Mister Kemp, Yes, mister Kemp. Sorrow at
his inability to oblige shone from every hilltop on the
boy's face. Don't know of any one of that name
around here, he said apologetically, But surely Sallie broke off.
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Suddenly a grim foreboding had come to her. How long
have you been here? She asked? All day, ma'am, said
the office boy, with the manner of a casablanca. I mean,
how long have you been employed here? Just over a month? Miss,
hasn't mister Kemp been in the office all that time?
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Name's new to me, lady. Does he look like anything?
I mean to say? What's he look like? He has
very red hair. Never seen him in here, said the
office boy. The truth shone coldly on Sallie. She blamed
herself for ever having gone away, and told herself that
she might have known what would happen. Left to his
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own resources. The unhappy Ginger had once more made a
hash of it. And this hash must have been a
more notable and outstanding hash than any of his previous efforts,
For surely Phillmore would not lightly have dismissed one who
had come to him under her special protection. Where is
mister Nicholas, she asked? It seemed to her that Phillmore
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was the only possible source of information. Did you say
he was out? Really out, miss, said the office boy
with engaging candor. He went off to White Plains in
his automobile half an hour ago. White Plains. What for?
The pimpled stripling had now given himself up wholeheartedly to
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social chit chat. Usually, he liked his time to himself
and resented the intrusion of the outer world, for he
who had chosen jugglery for his walk in life must
neglect no opportunity of practicing. But so favorable was the
impression which Sally had made on his plastic mind, that
he was delighted to converse with her as long as
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she wished. I guess what's happened is he's gone up
to take a look at bugs Butler, he said, Who's butler?
Said Sallie mystified. The office boy smiled a tolerant smile.
Though an admirer of the sex, he was aware that
women were seldom hep to the really important things in life.
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He did not blame them. That was the way they
were constructed, and one simply had to accept it. Bugs
Butler is training up at White Plains miss who is
bugs Butler? Something of his former bleakness of aspect returned
to the office boy. Sallie's question had opened up a
subject on which he felt deeply Ah, he replied, losing
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his air of respectful deference as he approached the topic.
Who is he? That's what they're all saying, all the
wise guys. Who has bugs Butler ever licked? I don't know,
said Sallie, for he had fixed her with a penetrating
gaze and seemed to be pausing for a reply. Nor
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nobody else, said the stripling vehemently. A lot of stiffs
out on the coast, that's all ginks. Nobody has ever
heard of except cyclone Mullins, and it took that false
alarm fifteen rounds to get a referee's decision over him.
The boss would go and give him a chance against
the champ, but I could have told him that the
legitimate contender was k Leg Bins. Kayleg put cyclone Mullins
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out in the fifth well, said the office boy, in
the overwrought tone of one chafing at human folly. If
anybody thinks bugs Butler can last six rounds with Leu Lucas,
I've two bucks right here in my vest pocket. That
says it ain't so. Sallie began to see daylight. Oh, Bugs,
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mister Butler is one of the boxers in the fight
that my brother is interested in. That's right, he's going
up against the lightweight champ. Leu Lucas is the lightweight champ.
He's a bird, yes, said Sallie. This youth had a
way of looking at her with his head cocked on
one side, as though he expected her to say something. Yes, sir,
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said the stripling with emphasis. Leu Lucas is a hot sketch.
He used to live on the street next to me,
he added, as clinching evidence of his hero's prowess. I've
seen his old mother as close as I am to
you say, I seen her a hundred times. Is any
stiff of a Bugs Butler going to lick a fellow
like that? It doesn't seem likely. You spoke it, said
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the lad crisply striking unsuccessfully at a fly which had
settled on the blotting paper. There was a pause. Sallie
started to rise. And there's another thing, said the office boy,
loath to close the sub object. Can Bugs Butler make
a hundred and thirty five ring side without being weak.
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It sounds awfully difficult. They say he's clever, the expert
laughed satirically. Well, what's that going to get him? The
poor fish can't punch a hole in a nut. Sunday.
You don't seem to like mister Butler. Oh, I've nothing
against him, said the office boy magnanimously. I'm only saying
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he's no license to be mixing it with Leu Lucas.
Sally got up, absorbing, as this chat on current form
was more important matters, claimed her attention. How shall I
find my brother when I get to White Plains, she asked, Oh,
anybody'll show you the way to the training camp. If
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you hurry, there's a train you can make now, Thank
you very much, You're welcome. He opened the door for
her with an old world politeness which disuse had rendered
a little rusty, then with an air of getting back
to business after a pleasant but frivolous interlude, he took
up the paperweights once more and placed the ruler with
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nice care on his upturned chin. Two fillmore. Heaved a
sigh of relief and began to sidle from the room.
It was a large room, half barn, half gymnasium. Athletic
appliances of various kinds hung on the walls, and in
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the middle there was a wide, roped off space around
which a small crowd had distributed itself with an air
of expectancy. This is a commercial age, and the days
when a prominent pugilist's training activities used to be hidden
from the public gaze are over. Today. If the public
can lay its hands on fifty cents, it may come
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and gaze its fill. This afternoon plutocrats to the number
of about forty had assembled, though not all of these,
to the regret of mister Lester Burrows, the manager of
the eminent Bugs, Butler had parted with solid Coin. Many
of those present were newspaper representatives and on the free list,
writers who would polish up mister Butler's somewhat crude prognostications
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as to what he proposed to do to mister Lew
Lucas and would report him as saying, I am in
a really superb condition and feel little apprehension of the issue.
And artists who would depict him in a state of
semi nudity with feet several sizes too large for any man.
The reason for Fillmore's relief was that mister Burrows, who
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was a great talker and had buttonholed him a quarter
of an hour ago, had at last had his attention
distracted elsewhere and had gone off to investigate some matter
that called for his personal handling, leaving Philmore free to
slide away to the hotel and get a bite to eat,
which he sorely needed. The zeal which had brought him
to the training camp to inspect the final day of
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mister Butler's preps operation for the fight was to take
place on the morrow, had been so great that he
had omitted to lunch before leaving New York. So Fillmore
made thankfully for the door, and it was at the
door that he encountered Sallie. He was looking over his
shoulder at the moment and was not aware of her
presence till she spoke Hallo Phillmore. Sallie had spoken softly,
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but a dynamite explosion could not have shattered her brother's
composure with more completeness. In the leaping twist which brought
him facing her, he rose a clear three inches from
the floor. He had a confused sensation as though his
nervous system had been stirred up with a pole. He
struggled for breath and moistened his lips with the tip
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of his tongue, staring at her continuously during the process.
Great men, in their moments of weakness are to be
pitied rather than scorned. If ever a man had an
excuse for leaping like a young Ram Fillmore had it.
He had left Sally not much more than a week
ago in England, in Shropshire, at Monk's Crofton. She had
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said nothing of any intention on her part of leaving
the country, the county, or the house. Yet here she was,
in bugs Butler's training camp at White Plains in the
state of New York, speaking softly in his ear, without
even going through the preliminary of tapping him on the
shoulder to advertise her presence. No wonder that Fillmore was startled,
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and no wonder that, as he adjusted his faculties to
the situation, there crept upon him a chill apprehension, For
Fillmore had not been blind to the significance of that
invitation to Monk's Crofton. Nowadays, you're a wooer does not
formally approach a girl's nearest relative and ask permission to
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pay his addresses. But when he invites her and that
nearest relative to his country home, and collects all the
rest of the family to meet her, the thing may
be said to have advanced beyond the the realms of
mere speculation. Shrewdly, Fillmore had deduced that Bruce Carmle was
in love with Sallie, and mentally he had joined their
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hands and given them a brother's blessing. And now it
was only too plain that disaster must have occurred if
the invitation could mean only one thing. So also could
Sallie's presence at White Plains mean only one thing? Sallie
a croaking whisper was the best he could achieve. What
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what did I startle you? I'm sorry? What are you
doing here? Why aren't you at Monk's Crofton Sallie glanced
past him at the ring and the crowd around it.
I decided I wanted to get back to America. Circumstances
arose which made it pleasanter to leave Monk's crofton. Do
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you mean to say yes, don't let's talk about it?
Do you mean to say? Insisted Fillmore that Carmle proposed
to you, and you turned him down. Sallie flushed. I
don't think it's particularly nice to talk about that sort
of thing, but yes, a feeling of desolation overcame. Fillmore,
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that conviction which saddens us at all times, of the wilful,
bone headedness of our fellows swept coldly upon him. Everything
had been so perfect, the whole arrangement so ideal, that
it had never occurred to him as a possibility that
Sallie might take it into her head to spoil it
by declining to play the part allotted to her. The
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match was so obviously the best thing that could happen.
It was not merely the suitor's impressive wealth that made
him hold this opinion, though it would be idle to
deny that the prospect of having a brother in lawful
claim on the Carmle Bank balance had cast a rosy
glamor over the future as he had envisaged it. He
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honestly liked and respected the man. He appreciated his quiet
and aristocratic reserve, a well bred fellow, sensible withal, just
the sort of husband a girl like Sallie needed. And
now she had ruined everything with the capricious perversity, which
so characterizes her otherwise delightful sex. She had spilled the beans.
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But why oh? Phil Sallie had expected that realization of
the facts would produce these symptoms in him, but now
that they had presented themselves, she was finding them rasping
to the nerves. I should have thought the reason was obvious.
You mean you don't like him. I don't know whether
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I do or not. I certainly don't like him enough
to marry him. He's a darned good fellow, is he?
You say so? I don't know. The imperious desire for
bodily sustenance began to compete successfully for Fillmore's notice with
his spiritual anguish. Let's go to the hotel and talk
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it over. We'll go to the hotel and I'll give
you something to eat. I don't want anything to eat. Thanks,
you don't want anything to eat, said Fillmore incredulously. He supposed,
in a vague sort of way that there were eccentric
people of this sort, but it was hard to realize
that he had met one of them. I'm starving. Well,
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run along, then, yes, but I want to talk. He
was not the only person who wanted to talk at
the moment, a small man of sporting exterior hurried up.
He wore what his tailor's advertisements would have called a
nobby suit of checked tweed, and, in defiance of popular prejudice,
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a brown bowler hat. Mister Lester Burrows, having dealt with
the business which had interrupted their conversation a few minutes before,
was anxious to resume his remarks on the subject of
the supreme excellence in every respect of his young charge. Say,
mister Nicholas, you ain't going Bugs is just getting ready
to spar. He glanced inquiringly at Sallie, my sister, mister Burrows,
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said Philmore faintly. Mister Burrows is bugs Butler's manager. How
do you do, said Sallie. Pleased to meet your said
mister Burrows. Say I was just going to the hotel
to get something to eat, said Phillmore. Mister Burrows clutched
at his coat button with a swoop and held him
with a glittering eye. Yes, but say before you go,
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let me tell you something. You never seen this boy,
o I not when he was feeling right. Believe me,
he's there. He's a wizard, He's a hindoo. Say he's
been practicing up a left shift. That Fillmore's eye met
Sallie's wanly, and she pitied him. Presently, she would require
him to explain to her how he had dared to
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dismiss Ginger from his employment and make that explanation a
good one. But in the meantime she remembered that he
was her brother and was suffering. He's the cleverest light weight,
proceeded mister Burrows fervently. Since Joe gans, I'm telling you,
and I know he can he make a hundred and
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thirty five ringside without being weak? Asked Sallie. The effect
of this simple question on mister Burrows was stupendous. He
dropped away from Fillmore's coat button like an exhausted bivalve,
and his small mouth opened feebly. It was as if
a child had suddenly propounded to an eminent mathematician some
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abstruse problem in the higher algebra. Females who took an
interest in boxing had come into mister Burrows's life before,
in his younger days, when he was a famous featherweight.
The first of his three wives had been accustomed to
sit at the ringside during his contests and urge him
in language of the severest technicality to knock opponents blocks off.
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But somehow he had not supposed from her appearance and
manner that Sallie was one of the elect He gaped
at her, and the relieved Fillmore sidled off like a
bird hopping from the compelling gaze of a snake. He
was not quite sure that he was acting correctly in
allowing his sister to roam at large among the somewhat
bohemian surroundings of a training camp, but the instinct of
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self preservation turned the scale. He had breakfasted early, and
if he did not eat right speedily, it seemed to
him that dissolution would set in. Was that, said mister
Burrows feebly. It took him fifteen rounds to get a
referee's decision over Cyclone. Mullins said Sallie severely, and kay
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leg Bins. Mister Burrows rallied. You ain't got it right,
he protested. Say you mustn't believe what you see in
the papers. The referee was dead against and Cyclone was
down once for all of half a minute, and they
wouldn't count him out. Gee, you got to kill a
guy in some towns before they'll give you a decision
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at that. They couldn't do nothing so raw as make
it anything but a wind for my boy, after him
leading by a mile all the way. Have you ever
seen bugs, ma'am. Sallie had to admit that she had
not had that privilege. Mister Burrows, with growing excitement, felt
in his breast pocket and produced a picture postcard, which
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he thrust into her hand. That's bugs, he said. Take
a slant at that, and then tell me if he
don't look the goods. The photograph represented a young man
in the irreducible minimum of clothing who crouched painfully, as
though stricken with one of the acuter forms of gastritis.
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I'll call him over and have him sign it for you,
said mister Burrows, before Sallie had had time to grasp
the fact that this work of art was a gift
and no mere loan here. Bugs want your A youth
enveloped in a bathrobe, who had been talking to a
group of admirers near the ring, turned started languidly towards them, then,
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seeing Sallie, quickened his pace. He was an admirer of
the sex. Mister Burrows did the honors Bugs. This is
miss Nicholas come to see you work out. I've been
telling her. She is going to have a treat and
to Sallie shake hands with Bugs Butler, ma'am the coming
lightweight champion of the world. Mister Butler's photograph, Sallie considered,
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had flattered him. He was, in the flesh, a singularly
repellent young man. There was a mean and cruel curve
to his lips, and a cold arrogance in his eye,
a something dangerous and sinister in the atmosphere he radiated. Moreover,
she did not like the way he smirked at her. However,
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she exerted herself to be amiable. I hope you are
going to win, mister Butler, she said. The smile which
she forced as she spoke the words removed the coming
champion's doubts, though they had never been serious. He was
convinced now that he had made a hit. He always did,
he reflected with the girls. It was something about him.
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His chest swelled complacently beneath the bath robe. You betcher,
he asserted. Briefly. Mister Burrows looked at his watch. Time
you were starting, Bugs, The coming Champion removed his gaze
from Sally's face, into which he had been peering in
a conquering manner, and cast a disparaging glance at the audience.
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It was far from being as large as he could
have wished, and at least a third of it was
composed of non payers from the newspapers. A rh right,
he said, bored his languor left him as his gaze
fell on Sallie again, and his spirits revived somewhat after
all small, though the number of spectators might be, bright
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eyes would watch and admire him. I'll go a couple
of rounds with ready for a starter, he said, seen
him anywheres, He's never around when he's wanted, I'll fetch him,
said mister Burrows. He's back there somewheres. I'm going to
show that guy up this afternoon, said mister Butler coldly.
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He's been getting too fresh. The manager bustled off and
bugs Butler, with a final smirk, left Sallie and dived
under the ropes. There was a stir of interest in
the audience, though the newspaper men, blase through familiarity, exhibited
no emotion. Presently, mister Burrows reappeared, shepherding a young man
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whose face was hidden by the sweater which he was
pulling over his head. He was a sturdily built young man.
The sweater moving from his body revealed a good pair
of shoulders. A last tug and the sweater was off.
Red hair flashed into view, tousled and disordered, and as
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she saw it, Sally uttered an involuntary gasp of astonishment,
which caused many eyes to turn towards her. And the
red headed young man, who had been stooping to pick
up his gloves, straightened himself with a jerk and stood
staring at her blankly and incredulously, his face slowly crimsoning three.
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It was the energetic mister Burrows who broke the spell.
Come on, come on, he said, impatiently. They'll speed there ready.
Ginger Camp started like a sleep walker, awakened, then, recovering himself,
slowly began to pull on the gloves. Embarrassment was stamped
on his agreeable features. His face matched his hair. Sallie
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plucked at the little manager's elbow. He turned irritably, but
beamed in a distraight sort of manner. When he perceived
the source of the interruption, woo him, he said in
answer to Sallie's whispered question, He's just one of Bugs's
sparring partners. But mister Burrows, fussy now that the time
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had come for action, interrupted her. You'll excuse me, miss,
but I have to hold the watch. We mustn't waste
any time. Sallie drew back. She felt like an infidel
who intrudes upon the celebration of strange rites. This was
man's hour, and women must keep in the background. She
had the sensation of being very small and yet very
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much in the way, like a puppy who has wandered
into a church. The novelty and solemnity of the scene
awed her. She looked at Jiminger, who, with averted gaze,
was fiddling with his clothes in the opposite corner of
the ring. He was as removed from communication as if
he had been in another world. She continued to stare,
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wide eyed and ginger, shuffling his feet self consciously plucked
at his gloves. Mister Butler, meanwhile, having doffed his bathrobe,
stretched himself and with leisurely nonchalance, put on a second
pair of gloves. Was filling in the time with a
little shadow boxing. He moved rhythmically to and fro, now
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ducking his head, now striking out with his muffled hands,
and a sickening realization of the man's animal power, swept
over Sallie and turned her cold, swathed in his bathrobe.
Bugs Butler had conveyed an atmosphere of dangerousness in the
boxing tights, which showed up every rippling muscle. He was
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horrible and sinister, a machine built for destruction, a human panther,
so he appeared to Sally. But a stout and bulbous
eyed man standing at her side was not equally impressed.
Obviously one of the wise guys of whom her friend,
the Sporting office boy, had spoken. He was frankly dissatisfied
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with the exhibition shadow boxing, he observed in a caveling
spirit to his companion, Yes he can do that, all right,
just like I can fox trot if I ain't got
a partner to get in the way. But one good
wallop and then watch him. His friend, also plainly a
guy of established wisdom, assented with a curt nod. Ah
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he agreed. Leu Lucas said, the first wise guy is
just as shifty, and he can punch. Ah said the
second wise guy, just because he beats up a few
poor mutts of sparring partners, said the first wise guy, disparagingly.
He thinks he's some one, Ah, said the second wise guy.
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As far as Sallie could interpret these remarks, the full
meaning of which was shrouded from her, they seemed to
be reassuring. For a comforting moment, she ceased to regard
Ginger as a martyr waiting to be devoured by a lion.
Mister Butler, she gathered, was not so formidable as he appeared,
but her relief was not to be long lived. Of course,
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he'll eat this red headed gink, went on the first
wise guy. That's the thing he does best, killing his
sparring partners. But lou Lucas. Sallie was not interested in
lou Lucas. That numbing fear had come back to her.
Even these cognisanti, little as they esteemed, mister Butler had
plainly no doubts as to what he would do to Ginger.
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She tried to tear herself away, but something stronger than
her own will kept her there, standing where she was,
holding on to the rope and staring forlornly into the
ring ready, Bugs, asked mister Burrows, the coming champion, nodded carelessly,
Go to it, said mister Burrows. Ginger ceased to pluck
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at his gloves and advanced into the ring. Four. Of
all the learned professions, pugilism is the one in which
the trained expert is most sharply divided from the mere dabbler.
In other fields, the amateur may occasionally hope to compete
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successfully with the man who has made a business of
what is to him but a sport. But at boxing never,
and the whole demeanor of bugs Butler showed that he
had laid this truth to heart. It would be too
little to say that his bearing was confident. He comported
himself with the carefree jauntiness of an infant about to
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demolish a Noah's ark with a tack hammer. Cyclone Mullinses
might withstand him for fifteen rounds, where they yielded to
a k leg Bins in the fifth. But when it
came to beating up a sparring partner and an amateur
at that bugs Butler knew his potentialities. He was there
forty ways, and he did not attempt to conceal it,
(32:15):
crouching as was his wont he uncoiled himself like a
striking rattlesnake and flicked Ginger lightly over his guard. Then
he returned to his crouch and circled sinuously about the ring,
with the amiable intention of showing the crowd payers and
dead heads alike what real footwork was. If there was
(32:35):
one thing on which bugs Butler prided himself, it was footwork.
The adverb lightly is a relative term, and the blow
which had just planted a dull patch on Ginger's cheekbone
affected those present in different degrees. Ginger himself appeared stolidly callous.
Sally shuddered to the core of her being and had
(32:58):
to hold more tightly to the rope to support her herself.
The two wise guys mocked openly. To the wise guys,
expert connoisseurs of swat, the thing had appeared richly farcical.
They seemed to consider the blow administered to a third
party and not to themselves, hardly worth calling a blow
at all. Two more, landing, as quickly and neatly as
(33:21):
the first left them equally cold. Call that punching, said
the first wise guy, Ah, said the second wise guy.
But mister Butler, if he heard this criticism, and it
is probable that he did, for the wise ones had
been restrained by no delicacy of feeling from raising their voices,
was in no way discommoded by it. Bugs Butler knew
(33:45):
what he was about. Bright eyes were watching him, and
he meant to give them a treat. The girls like
smooth work. Any rough neck could sail into a guy
and knock the daylights out of him, but how few
could be clever and flashy and scientific. Few few, indeed,
thought mister Butler. As he slid in and led once more,
(34:06):
something solid smote mister Butler's nose, rocking him on to
his heels and inducing an unpleasant smarting sensation about his eyes.
He backed away and regarded Ginger with astonishment, almost with pain.
Until this moment, he had scarcely considered him as an
active participant in the scene at all, and he felt
(34:27):
strongly that this sort of thing was bad form. It
was not being done by sparring partners. A juster man
might have reflected that he himself was to blame. He
had undeniably been careless in the very act of leading.
He had allowed his eyes to flicker sideways to see
how Sally was taking this exhibition of science, and he
(34:49):
paid the penalty. Nevertheless, he was piqued. He shimmered about
the ring, thinking it over, and the more he thought
it over, the less did he approve of his young
assistant's conduct. Hard thoughts towards Ginger began to float in
his mind. Ginger too was thinking hard thoughts. He had
not had an easy time since he had come to
(35:10):
the training camp, but never till to day had he
experienced any resentment towards his employer. Until this afternoon, bugs
Butler had pounded him honestly and without malice, and he
had gone through it as the other sparring partners did, phlegmatically,
taking it as part of the day's work. But this
afternoon there had been a difference. Those careless flicks had
(35:32):
been an insult, a deliberate offense. The man was trying
to make a fool of him, playing to the gallery,
and the thought of who was in that gallery inflamed
Ginger past thought of consequences. No one, not even mister Butler,
was more keenly alive than he to the fact that,
in a serious conflict with a man who tomorrow night
(35:52):
might be lightweight champion of the world. He stood no
chance whatever, but he did not intend to be made
an exhibition of in front of Sallie without doing something
to hold his end up. He proposed to go down
with his flag flying, And in pursuance of this object,
he dug mister Butler heavily in the lower ribs with
his right, causing that expert to clinch, and the two
(36:14):
wise guys to utter sharp barking sounds expressive of derision.
Say what the hell do you think you're getting at,
demanded the aggrieved pugilist in a heated whisper in Ginger's
ear as they fell into the embrace. What's the idea, you, jellybean?
Ginger maintained a pink silence, his jaw was set, and
(36:36):
the temper which nature had bestowed upon him to go
with his hair had reached white heat. He dodged a
vicious right which whizzed up at his chin out of
the breaking clinch, and rushed a left hook shook him,
but was too high to do more. There was rough
work in the far corner, and suddenly, with startling abruptness,
(36:57):
bugs Butler bothered by the ropes at his back, and
trying to side step, ran into a swing and fell
time shouted the scandalized mister Burrows utterly aghast at this
frightful misadventure. In the whole course of his professional experience,
he could recall no such devastating occurrence. The audience was
(37:20):
no less startled. There was audible gasping. The newspaper men
looked at each other with a wild surmise and conjured
up pleasant pictures of their sporting editors receiving this sensational
item of news. Later on over the telephone, the two
wise guys, continuing to pursue mister Butler with their dislike,
emitted loud and raucous laughs, and one of them, forming
(37:44):
his hands into a megaphone, urged the fallen warrior to
go away and get a rep. As for Sally, she
was conscious of a sudden, fierce, cave womanly rush of
happiness which swept away completely the sickening qualms of the
last few minutes. Her teeth were clenched and her eyes
blazed with joyous excitement. She looked at Ginger yearningly, longing
(38:07):
to forget a gentle upbringing, and shout congratulation to him.
She was proud of him, and mingled with the pride
was a curious feeling that was almost fear. This was
not the mild and amiable young man whom she was
wont to mother through the difficulties of a world in
which he was unfitted to struggle for himself. This was
(38:28):
a new Ginger, a stranger to her. On the rare
occasions on which he had been knocked down in the past,
it had been bugs Butler's canny practice to pause for
a while and rest before rising and continuing the argument.
But now he was up, almost before he had touched
the boards, and the satire of the second wise guy
(38:49):
who had begun to saw the air with his hand
and count loudly lost its point. It was only too
plain that mister Butler's motto was that a man may
be down, but he is never out. And indeed the
knockdown had been largely a stumble. Bugs Butler's educated feet,
which had carried him unscathed through so many contests, had
(39:11):
for this single occasion, managed to get themselves crossed just
as Ginger's blow landed, and it was to his lack
of balance rather than the force of the swing that
his downfall had been due time. He snarled, casting a
malevolent side glance at his manager, like hell, it's time,
and in a whirlwind of flying gloves, he flung himself
(39:35):
upon Ginger, driving him across the ring, while mister Burrow's
watch in hand stared with dropping jaw. If Ginger had
seemed a new Ginger to Sally, still more did this
seem a new Bugs Butler to mister Burrows. And the
manager groaned in spirit. Coolness, skill and science. These had
(39:55):
been the qualities in his protegee which had always so
endeared him to Miss Lester Burrows, and had so enriched
their respective bank accounts. And now, on the eve of
the most important fight in his life, before an audience
of newspaper men, he had thrown them all aside and
was making an exhibition of himself with a common sparring partner.
(40:17):
That was the bitter blow to mister Burrows. Had this
lapse into the unscientific primitive happened in a regular fight,
he might have mourned and poured reproof into Bugs's ear
when he got him back in his corner at the
end of the round. But he would not have experienced
this feeling of helpless horror, the sort of horror an
elder of the church might feel if he saw his
(40:39):
favorite bishop yielding in public to the fascination of jazz.
It was the fact that bugs Butler was lowering himself
to extend his powers against a sparring partner that shocked
mister Burrows. There is an etiquette in these things. A
champion may batter his sparring partners into insensibility if he pleases,
(40:59):
but he must do it with nonchalance. He must not
appear to be really trying. And nothing could be more
manifest than that Bugs Butler was trying. His whole fighting
soul was in his efforts to corner Ginger and destroy him.
The battle was raging across the ring, and down the ring,
and up the ring and back again, yet always Ginger,
(41:21):
like a storm driven ship, contrived somehow to weather the tempest.
Out of the flurry of swinging arms. He emerged time
after time, bruised, bleeding, but fighting hard. For bugs Butler's
fury was defeating its object. Had he remained his cool
and scientific self, he could have demolished Ginger and cut
(41:43):
through his defense in a matter of seconds. But he
had lapsed back into the methods of his unskilled novitiate.
He swung and missed, swung and missed again, struck but
found no vital spot. And now there was blood on
his face too, in some wild melee. The sacred fount
had been tapped, and his teeth gleamed through a crimson mist.
(42:06):
The wise guys were beyond speech. They were leaning against
one another, punching each other feebly in the back. One
was crying. And then suddenly the end came, as swiftly
and unexpectedly as the thing had begun. His wild swings
had tired Bugs Butler, and with fatigue, prudence returned to him.
(42:28):
His feet began once more, there subtle weaving in and out.
Twice his left hand flickered home a quick feint, a
short jolting stab, and Ginger's guard was down, and he
was swaying in the middle of the ring, his hands
hanging and his knees a quiver. Bugs Butler measured his
distance and Sally shut her eyes. End of chapter thirteen,
(42:57):
read by Kris Allenberg w w ds W dot kay
dot org on February first, two thousand and nine, in
San Diego, California,
Chapter thirteen of the Adventures of Sallie. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
The Adventures of Sallie by P. G. Woodhouse, Chapter thirteen,
(00:21):
Strange behavior of a sparring partner one. Sallie's emotions as
she sat in her apartment on the morning of her
return to New York resembled somewhat those of a swimmer who,
after wavering on a raw morning at the brink of
(00:41):
a chill pool, nerves himself to the plunge she was aching.
But she knew that she had done well. If she
wanted happiness, she must fight for it. And for all
these months she had been shirking the fight. She had
done with wavering on the brink, and here she was
in mid stream, ready for or whatever might befall. It
(01:02):
hurt this coming to grips. She had expected it to hurt,
but it was a pain that stimulated, not a dull
melancholy that smothered. She felt alive and defiant. She had
finished unpacking and tidying up. The next move was certainly
to go and see Ginger. She had suddenly become aware
(01:23):
that she wanted very badly to see Ginger. His stolid
friendliness would be a support and a prop She wished
now that she had sent him a cable so that
he could have met her at the dock. It had
been rather terrible at the dock. The echoing customs sheds
had sapped her valor, and she felt alone and forlorn.
(01:45):
She looked at her watch and was surprised to find
how early it was. She could catch him at the
office and make him take her out to lunch. She
put on her hat and went out. The restless hand
of change, always active in New York, had not spared
the outer office of the Fillmore Nicholas Theatrical Enterprises Limited
in the months of her absence. She was greeted on
(02:08):
her arrival by Anne, entirely new and original stripling in
place of the one with whom at her last visit
she had established such cordial relations. Like his predecessor, he
was generously pimpled, but there the resemblance stopped. He was
a grim boy, and his manner was stern and suspicious.
(02:29):
He peered narrowly at Sallie for a moment, as if
he had caught her in the act of purloining the
office blotting paper. Then, with no little acerbity, desired her
to state her business. I want, mister Kemp, said Sallie.
The office boy scratched his cheek dourly with a ruler.
No one would have guessed so austere was his aspect
(02:53):
that a moment before her entrance he had been trying
to balance it on his chin, juggling the while with
a pair of paper weights for impervious, as he seemed
to human weaknesses. It was this lad's ambition one day
to go into vaudeville. What name, he said, coldly. Nicholas said, Sallie,
I am mister Nicholas's sister. On a previous occasion, when
(03:17):
she had made this announcement, disastrous results had ensued, But
to day it went well. It seemed to hit the
office boy like a bullet. He started convulsively, opened his
mouth and dropped the ruler. In the interval of stooping
and recovering it, he was able to pull himself together.
He had not been curious about Sallie's name. What he
(03:39):
had wished was to have the name of the person
for whom she was asking repeated. He now perceived that
he had had a bit of luck. A wearying period
of disappointment in the matter of keeping the paper weights
circulating while balancing the ruler had left him peevish, and
it had been his intention to work off his ill
humor on the young visitor. The discovery that it was
(04:02):
the boss's sister who was taking up his time suggested
the advisability of a radical change of tactics. He had
stooped with a frown. He returned to the perpendicular with
a smile that was positively winning. It was like the
sun suddenly bursting through a London fog. Will you take
(04:23):
a seat, lady, he said, with polished courtesy, even unbending
so far as to reach out and dust one with
the sleeve of his coat. He added that the morning
was a fine one, Thank you, said Sally. Will you
tell him I'm here. Mister Nicholas is out, miss, said
the office boy with gentlemanly regret. He's back in New York,
(04:47):
but he's gone out. I don't want mister Nicholas. I
want mister Kemp. Mister Kemp, Yes, mister Kemp. Sorrow at
his inability to oblige shone from every hilltop on the
boy's face. Don't know of any one of that name
around here, he said apologetically, But surely Sallie broke off.
(05:11):
Suddenly a grim foreboding had come to her. How long
have you been here? She asked? All day, ma'am, said
the office boy, with the manner of a casablanca. I mean,
how long have you been employed here? Just over a month? Miss,
hasn't mister Kemp been in the office all that time?
(05:35):
Name's new to me, lady. Does he look like anything?
I mean to say? What's he look like? He has
very red hair. Never seen him in here, said the
office boy. The truth shone coldly on Sallie. She blamed
herself for ever having gone away, and told herself that
she might have known what would happen. Left to his
(05:57):
own resources. The unhappy Ginger had once more made a
hash of it. And this hash must have been a
more notable and outstanding hash than any of his previous efforts,
For surely Phillmore would not lightly have dismissed one who
had come to him under her special protection. Where is
mister Nicholas, she asked? It seemed to her that Phillmore
(06:20):
was the only possible source of information. Did you say
he was out? Really out, miss, said the office boy
with engaging candor. He went off to White Plains in
his automobile half an hour ago. White Plains. What for?
The pimpled stripling had now given himself up wholeheartedly to
(06:42):
social chit chat. Usually, he liked his time to himself
and resented the intrusion of the outer world, for he
who had chosen jugglery for his walk in life must
neglect no opportunity of practicing. But so favorable was the
impression which Sally had made on his plastic mind, that
he was delighted to converse with her as long as
(07:04):
she wished. I guess what's happened is he's gone up
to take a look at bugs Butler, he said, Who's butler?
Said Sallie mystified. The office boy smiled a tolerant smile.
Though an admirer of the sex, he was aware that
women were seldom hep to the really important things in life.
(07:27):
He did not blame them. That was the way they
were constructed, and one simply had to accept it. Bugs
Butler is training up at White Plains miss who is
bugs Butler? Something of his former bleakness of aspect returned
to the office boy. Sallie's question had opened up a
subject on which he felt deeply Ah, he replied, losing
(07:52):
his air of respectful deference as he approached the topic.
Who is he? That's what they're all saying, all the
wise guys. Who has bugs Butler ever licked? I don't know,
said Sallie, for he had fixed her with a penetrating
gaze and seemed to be pausing for a reply. Nor
(08:12):
nobody else, said the stripling vehemently. A lot of stiffs
out on the coast, that's all ginks. Nobody has ever
heard of except cyclone Mullins, and it took that false
alarm fifteen rounds to get a referee's decision over him.
The boss would go and give him a chance against
the champ, but I could have told him that the
legitimate contender was k Leg Bins. Kayleg put cyclone Mullins
(08:35):
out in the fifth well, said the office boy, in
the overwrought tone of one chafing at human folly. If
anybody thinks bugs Butler can last six rounds with Leu Lucas,
I've two bucks right here in my vest pocket. That
says it ain't so. Sallie began to see daylight. Oh, Bugs,
(08:57):
mister Butler is one of the boxers in the fight
that my brother is interested in. That's right, he's going
up against the lightweight champ. Leu Lucas is the lightweight champ.
He's a bird, yes, said Sallie. This youth had a
way of looking at her with his head cocked on
one side, as though he expected her to say something. Yes, sir,
(09:21):
said the stripling with emphasis. Leu Lucas is a hot sketch.
He used to live on the street next to me,
he added, as clinching evidence of his hero's prowess. I've
seen his old mother as close as I am to
you say, I seen her a hundred times. Is any
stiff of a Bugs Butler going to lick a fellow
like that? It doesn't seem likely. You spoke it, said
(09:44):
the lad crisply striking unsuccessfully at a fly which had
settled on the blotting paper. There was a pause. Sallie
started to rise. And there's another thing, said the office boy,
loath to close the sub object. Can Bugs Butler make
a hundred and thirty five ring side without being weak.
(10:06):
It sounds awfully difficult. They say he's clever, the expert
laughed satirically. Well, what's that going to get him? The
poor fish can't punch a hole in a nut. Sunday.
You don't seem to like mister Butler. Oh, I've nothing
against him, said the office boy magnanimously. I'm only saying
(10:27):
he's no license to be mixing it with Leu Lucas.
Sally got up, absorbing, as this chat on current form
was more important matters, claimed her attention. How shall I
find my brother when I get to White Plains, she asked, Oh,
anybody'll show you the way to the training camp. If
(10:48):
you hurry, there's a train you can make now, Thank
you very much, You're welcome. He opened the door for
her with an old world politeness which disuse had rendered
a little rusty, then with an air of getting back
to business after a pleasant but frivolous interlude, he took
up the paperweights once more and placed the ruler with
(11:10):
nice care on his upturned chin. Two fillmore. Heaved a
sigh of relief and began to sidle from the room.
It was a large room, half barn, half gymnasium. Athletic
appliances of various kinds hung on the walls, and in
(11:30):
the middle there was a wide, roped off space around
which a small crowd had distributed itself with an air
of expectancy. This is a commercial age, and the days
when a prominent pugilist's training activities used to be hidden
from the public gaze are over. Today. If the public
can lay its hands on fifty cents, it may come
(11:51):
and gaze its fill. This afternoon plutocrats to the number
of about forty had assembled, though not all of these,
to the regret of mister Lester Burrows, the manager of
the eminent Bugs, Butler had parted with solid Coin. Many
of those present were newspaper representatives and on the free list,
writers who would polish up mister Butler's somewhat crude prognostications
(12:15):
as to what he proposed to do to mister Lew
Lucas and would report him as saying, I am in
a really superb condition and feel little apprehension of the issue.
And artists who would depict him in a state of
semi nudity with feet several sizes too large for any man.
The reason for Fillmore's relief was that mister Burrows, who
(12:37):
was a great talker and had buttonholed him a quarter
of an hour ago, had at last had his attention
distracted elsewhere and had gone off to investigate some matter
that called for his personal handling, leaving Philmore free to
slide away to the hotel and get a bite to eat,
which he sorely needed. The zeal which had brought him
to the training camp to inspect the final day of
(12:59):
mister Butler's preps operation for the fight was to take
place on the morrow, had been so great that he
had omitted to lunch before leaving New York. So Fillmore
made thankfully for the door, and it was at the
door that he encountered Sallie. He was looking over his
shoulder at the moment and was not aware of her
presence till she spoke Hallo Phillmore. Sallie had spoken softly,
(13:24):
but a dynamite explosion could not have shattered her brother's
composure with more completeness. In the leaping twist which brought
him facing her, he rose a clear three inches from
the floor. He had a confused sensation as though his
nervous system had been stirred up with a pole. He
struggled for breath and moistened his lips with the tip
(13:45):
of his tongue, staring at her continuously during the process.
Great men, in their moments of weakness are to be
pitied rather than scorned. If ever a man had an
excuse for leaping like a young Ram Fillmore had it.
He had left Sally not much more than a week
ago in England, in Shropshire, at Monk's Crofton. She had
(14:07):
said nothing of any intention on her part of leaving
the country, the county, or the house. Yet here she was,
in bugs Butler's training camp at White Plains in the
state of New York, speaking softly in his ear, without
even going through the preliminary of tapping him on the
shoulder to advertise her presence. No wonder that Fillmore was startled,
(14:28):
and no wonder that, as he adjusted his faculties to
the situation, there crept upon him a chill apprehension, For
Fillmore had not been blind to the significance of that
invitation to Monk's Crofton. Nowadays, you're a wooer does not
formally approach a girl's nearest relative and ask permission to
(14:48):
pay his addresses. But when he invites her and that
nearest relative to his country home, and collects all the
rest of the family to meet her, the thing may
be said to have advanced beyond the the realms of
mere speculation. Shrewdly, Fillmore had deduced that Bruce Carmle was
in love with Sallie, and mentally he had joined their
(15:10):
hands and given them a brother's blessing. And now it
was only too plain that disaster must have occurred if
the invitation could mean only one thing. So also could
Sallie's presence at White Plains mean only one thing? Sallie
a croaking whisper was the best he could achieve. What
(15:30):
what did I startle you? I'm sorry? What are you
doing here? Why aren't you at Monk's Crofton Sallie glanced
past him at the ring and the crowd around it.
I decided I wanted to get back to America. Circumstances
arose which made it pleasanter to leave Monk's crofton. Do
(15:53):
you mean to say yes, don't let's talk about it?
Do you mean to say? Insisted Fillmore that Carmle proposed
to you, and you turned him down. Sallie flushed. I
don't think it's particularly nice to talk about that sort
of thing, but yes, a feeling of desolation overcame. Fillmore,
(16:16):
that conviction which saddens us at all times, of the wilful,
bone headedness of our fellows swept coldly upon him. Everything
had been so perfect, the whole arrangement so ideal, that
it had never occurred to him as a possibility that
Sallie might take it into her head to spoil it
by declining to play the part allotted to her. The
(16:37):
match was so obviously the best thing that could happen.
It was not merely the suitor's impressive wealth that made
him hold this opinion, though it would be idle to
deny that the prospect of having a brother in lawful
claim on the Carmle Bank balance had cast a rosy
glamor over the future as he had envisaged it. He
(16:57):
honestly liked and respected the man. He appreciated his quiet
and aristocratic reserve, a well bred fellow, sensible withal, just
the sort of husband a girl like Sallie needed. And
now she had ruined everything with the capricious perversity, which
so characterizes her otherwise delightful sex. She had spilled the beans.
(17:19):
But why oh? Phil Sallie had expected that realization of
the facts would produce these symptoms in him, but now
that they had presented themselves, she was finding them rasping
to the nerves. I should have thought the reason was obvious.
You mean you don't like him. I don't know whether
(17:40):
I do or not. I certainly don't like him enough
to marry him. He's a darned good fellow, is he?
You say so? I don't know. The imperious desire for
bodily sustenance began to compete successfully for Fillmore's notice with
his spiritual anguish. Let's go to the hotel and talk
(18:01):
it over. We'll go to the hotel and I'll give
you something to eat. I don't want anything to eat. Thanks,
you don't want anything to eat, said Fillmore incredulously. He supposed,
in a vague sort of way that there were eccentric
people of this sort, but it was hard to realize
that he had met one of them. I'm starving. Well,
(18:23):
run along, then, yes, but I want to talk. He
was not the only person who wanted to talk at
the moment, a small man of sporting exterior hurried up.
He wore what his tailor's advertisements would have called a
nobby suit of checked tweed, and, in defiance of popular prejudice,
(18:44):
a brown bowler hat. Mister Lester Burrows, having dealt with
the business which had interrupted their conversation a few minutes before,
was anxious to resume his remarks on the subject of
the supreme excellence in every respect of his young charge. Say,
mister Nicholas, you ain't going Bugs is just getting ready
to spar. He glanced inquiringly at Sallie, my sister, mister Burrows,
(19:11):
said Philmore faintly. Mister Burrows is bugs Butler's manager. How
do you do, said Sallie. Pleased to meet your said
mister Burrows. Say I was just going to the hotel
to get something to eat, said Phillmore. Mister Burrows clutched
at his coat button with a swoop and held him
with a glittering eye. Yes, but say before you go,
(19:35):
let me tell you something. You never seen this boy,
o I not when he was feeling right. Believe me,
he's there. He's a wizard, He's a hindoo. Say he's
been practicing up a left shift. That Fillmore's eye met
Sallie's wanly, and she pitied him. Presently, she would require
him to explain to her how he had dared to
(19:56):
dismiss Ginger from his employment and make that explanation a
good one. But in the meantime she remembered that he
was her brother and was suffering. He's the cleverest light weight,
proceeded mister Burrows fervently. Since Joe gans, I'm telling you,
and I know he can he make a hundred and
(20:16):
thirty five ringside without being weak? Asked Sallie. The effect
of this simple question on mister Burrows was stupendous. He
dropped away from Fillmore's coat button like an exhausted bivalve,
and his small mouth opened feebly. It was as if
a child had suddenly propounded to an eminent mathematician some
(20:39):
abstruse problem in the higher algebra. Females who took an
interest in boxing had come into mister Burrows's life before,
in his younger days, when he was a famous featherweight.
The first of his three wives had been accustomed to
sit at the ringside during his contests and urge him
in language of the severest technicality to knock opponents blocks off.
(21:02):
But somehow he had not supposed from her appearance and
manner that Sallie was one of the elect He gaped
at her, and the relieved Fillmore sidled off like a
bird hopping from the compelling gaze of a snake. He
was not quite sure that he was acting correctly in
allowing his sister to roam at large among the somewhat
bohemian surroundings of a training camp, but the instinct of
(21:26):
self preservation turned the scale. He had breakfasted early, and
if he did not eat right speedily, it seemed to
him that dissolution would set in. Was that, said mister
Burrows feebly. It took him fifteen rounds to get a
referee's decision over Cyclone. Mullins said Sallie severely, and kay
(21:48):
leg Bins. Mister Burrows rallied. You ain't got it right,
he protested. Say you mustn't believe what you see in
the papers. The referee was dead against and Cyclone was
down once for all of half a minute, and they
wouldn't count him out. Gee, you got to kill a
guy in some towns before they'll give you a decision
(22:09):
at that. They couldn't do nothing so raw as make
it anything but a wind for my boy, after him
leading by a mile all the way. Have you ever
seen bugs, ma'am. Sallie had to admit that she had
not had that privilege. Mister Burrows, with growing excitement, felt
in his breast pocket and produced a picture postcard, which
(22:30):
he thrust into her hand. That's bugs, he said. Take
a slant at that, and then tell me if he
don't look the goods. The photograph represented a young man
in the irreducible minimum of clothing who crouched painfully, as
though stricken with one of the acuter forms of gastritis.
(22:52):
I'll call him over and have him sign it for you,
said mister Burrows, before Sallie had had time to grasp
the fact that this work of art was a gift
and no mere loan here. Bugs want your A youth
enveloped in a bathrobe, who had been talking to a
group of admirers near the ring, turned started languidly towards them, then,
(23:14):
seeing Sallie, quickened his pace. He was an admirer of
the sex. Mister Burrows did the honors Bugs. This is
miss Nicholas come to see you work out. I've been
telling her. She is going to have a treat and
to Sallie shake hands with Bugs Butler, ma'am the coming
lightweight champion of the world. Mister Butler's photograph, Sallie considered,
(23:41):
had flattered him. He was, in the flesh, a singularly
repellent young man. There was a mean and cruel curve
to his lips, and a cold arrogance in his eye,
a something dangerous and sinister in the atmosphere he radiated. Moreover,
she did not like the way he smirked at her. However,
(24:03):
she exerted herself to be amiable. I hope you are
going to win, mister Butler, she said. The smile which
she forced as she spoke the words removed the coming
champion's doubts, though they had never been serious. He was
convinced now that he had made a hit. He always did,
he reflected with the girls. It was something about him.
(24:26):
His chest swelled complacently beneath the bath robe. You betcher,
he asserted. Briefly. Mister Burrows looked at his watch. Time
you were starting, Bugs, The coming Champion removed his gaze
from Sally's face, into which he had been peering in
a conquering manner, and cast a disparaging glance at the audience.
(24:50):
It was far from being as large as he could
have wished, and at least a third of it was
composed of non payers from the newspapers. A rh right,
he said, bored his languor left him as his gaze
fell on Sallie again, and his spirits revived somewhat after
all small, though the number of spectators might be, bright
(25:14):
eyes would watch and admire him. I'll go a couple
of rounds with ready for a starter, he said, seen
him anywheres, He's never around when he's wanted, I'll fetch him,
said mister Burrows. He's back there somewheres. I'm going to
show that guy up this afternoon, said mister Butler coldly.
(25:34):
He's been getting too fresh. The manager bustled off and
bugs Butler, with a final smirk, left Sallie and dived
under the ropes. There was a stir of interest in
the audience, though the newspaper men, blase through familiarity, exhibited
no emotion. Presently, mister Burrows reappeared, shepherding a young man
(25:56):
whose face was hidden by the sweater which he was
pulling over his head. He was a sturdily built young man.
The sweater moving from his body revealed a good pair
of shoulders. A last tug and the sweater was off.
Red hair flashed into view, tousled and disordered, and as
(26:17):
she saw it, Sally uttered an involuntary gasp of astonishment,
which caused many eyes to turn towards her. And the
red headed young man, who had been stooping to pick
up his gloves, straightened himself with a jerk and stood
staring at her blankly and incredulously, his face slowly crimsoning three.
(26:42):
It was the energetic mister Burrows who broke the spell.
Come on, come on, he said, impatiently. They'll speed there ready.
Ginger Camp started like a sleep walker, awakened, then, recovering himself,
slowly began to pull on the gloves. Embarrassment was stamped
on his agreeable features. His face matched his hair. Sallie
(27:05):
plucked at the little manager's elbow. He turned irritably, but
beamed in a distraight sort of manner. When he perceived
the source of the interruption, woo him, he said in
answer to Sallie's whispered question, He's just one of Bugs's
sparring partners. But mister Burrows, fussy now that the time
(27:28):
had come for action, interrupted her. You'll excuse me, miss,
but I have to hold the watch. We mustn't waste
any time. Sallie drew back. She felt like an infidel
who intrudes upon the celebration of strange rites. This was
man's hour, and women must keep in the background. She
had the sensation of being very small and yet very
(27:50):
much in the way, like a puppy who has wandered
into a church. The novelty and solemnity of the scene
awed her. She looked at Jiminger, who, with averted gaze,
was fiddling with his clothes in the opposite corner of
the ring. He was as removed from communication as if
he had been in another world. She continued to stare,
(28:12):
wide eyed and ginger, shuffling his feet self consciously plucked
at his gloves. Mister Butler, meanwhile, having doffed his bathrobe,
stretched himself and with leisurely nonchalance, put on a second
pair of gloves. Was filling in the time with a
little shadow boxing. He moved rhythmically to and fro, now
(28:33):
ducking his head, now striking out with his muffled hands,
and a sickening realization of the man's animal power, swept
over Sallie and turned her cold, swathed in his bathrobe.
Bugs Butler had conveyed an atmosphere of dangerousness in the
boxing tights, which showed up every rippling muscle. He was
(28:54):
horrible and sinister, a machine built for destruction, a human panther,
so he appeared to Sally. But a stout and bulbous
eyed man standing at her side was not equally impressed.
Obviously one of the wise guys of whom her friend,
the Sporting office boy, had spoken. He was frankly dissatisfied
(29:15):
with the exhibition shadow boxing, he observed in a caveling
spirit to his companion, Yes he can do that, all right,
just like I can fox trot if I ain't got
a partner to get in the way. But one good
wallop and then watch him. His friend, also plainly a
guy of established wisdom, assented with a curt nod. Ah
(29:39):
he agreed. Leu Lucas said, the first wise guy is
just as shifty, and he can punch. Ah said the
second wise guy, just because he beats up a few
poor mutts of sparring partners, said the first wise guy, disparagingly.
He thinks he's some one, Ah, said the second wise guy.
(30:03):
As far as Sallie could interpret these remarks, the full
meaning of which was shrouded from her, they seemed to
be reassuring. For a comforting moment, she ceased to regard
Ginger as a martyr waiting to be devoured by a lion.
Mister Butler, she gathered, was not so formidable as he appeared,
but her relief was not to be long lived. Of course,
(30:26):
he'll eat this red headed gink, went on the first
wise guy. That's the thing he does best, killing his
sparring partners. But lou Lucas. Sallie was not interested in
lou Lucas. That numbing fear had come back to her.
Even these cognisanti, little as they esteemed, mister Butler had
plainly no doubts as to what he would do to Ginger.
(30:48):
She tried to tear herself away, but something stronger than
her own will kept her there, standing where she was,
holding on to the rope and staring forlornly into the
ring ready, Bugs, asked mister Burrows, the coming champion, nodded carelessly,
Go to it, said mister Burrows. Ginger ceased to pluck
(31:11):
at his gloves and advanced into the ring. Four. Of
all the learned professions, pugilism is the one in which
the trained expert is most sharply divided from the mere dabbler.
In other fields, the amateur may occasionally hope to compete
(31:32):
successfully with the man who has made a business of
what is to him but a sport. But at boxing never,
and the whole demeanor of bugs Butler showed that he
had laid this truth to heart. It would be too
little to say that his bearing was confident. He comported
himself with the carefree jauntiness of an infant about to
(31:52):
demolish a Noah's ark with a tack hammer. Cyclone Mullinses
might withstand him for fifteen rounds, where they yielded to
a k leg Bins in the fifth. But when it
came to beating up a sparring partner and an amateur
at that bugs Butler knew his potentialities. He was there
forty ways, and he did not attempt to conceal it,
(32:15):
crouching as was his wont he uncoiled himself like a
striking rattlesnake and flicked Ginger lightly over his guard. Then
he returned to his crouch and circled sinuously about the ring,
with the amiable intention of showing the crowd payers and
dead heads alike what real footwork was. If there was
(32:35):
one thing on which bugs Butler prided himself, it was footwork.
The adverb lightly is a relative term, and the blow
which had just planted a dull patch on Ginger's cheekbone
affected those present in different degrees. Ginger himself appeared stolidly callous.
Sally shuddered to the core of her being and had
(32:58):
to hold more tightly to the rope to support her herself.
The two wise guys mocked openly. To the wise guys,
expert connoisseurs of swat, the thing had appeared richly farcical.
They seemed to consider the blow administered to a third
party and not to themselves, hardly worth calling a blow
at all. Two more, landing, as quickly and neatly as
(33:21):
the first left them equally cold. Call that punching, said
the first wise guy, Ah, said the second wise guy.
But mister Butler, if he heard this criticism, and it
is probable that he did, for the wise ones had
been restrained by no delicacy of feeling from raising their voices,
was in no way discommoded by it. Bugs Butler knew
(33:45):
what he was about. Bright eyes were watching him, and
he meant to give them a treat. The girls like
smooth work. Any rough neck could sail into a guy
and knock the daylights out of him, but how few
could be clever and flashy and scientific. Few few, indeed,
thought mister Butler. As he slid in and led once more,
(34:06):
something solid smote mister Butler's nose, rocking him on to
his heels and inducing an unpleasant smarting sensation about his eyes.
He backed away and regarded Ginger with astonishment, almost with pain.
Until this moment, he had scarcely considered him as an
active participant in the scene at all, and he felt
(34:27):
strongly that this sort of thing was bad form. It
was not being done by sparring partners. A juster man
might have reflected that he himself was to blame. He
had undeniably been careless in the very act of leading.
He had allowed his eyes to flicker sideways to see
how Sally was taking this exhibition of science, and he
(34:49):
paid the penalty. Nevertheless, he was piqued. He shimmered about
the ring, thinking it over, and the more he thought
it over, the less did he approve of his young
assistant's conduct. Hard thoughts towards Ginger began to float in
his mind. Ginger too was thinking hard thoughts. He had
not had an easy time since he had come to
(35:10):
the training camp, but never till to day had he
experienced any resentment towards his employer. Until this afternoon, bugs
Butler had pounded him honestly and without malice, and he
had gone through it as the other sparring partners did, phlegmatically,
taking it as part of the day's work. But this
afternoon there had been a difference. Those careless flicks had
(35:32):
been an insult, a deliberate offense. The man was trying
to make a fool of him, playing to the gallery,
and the thought of who was in that gallery inflamed
Ginger past thought of consequences. No one, not even mister Butler,
was more keenly alive than he to the fact that,
in a serious conflict with a man who tomorrow night
(35:52):
might be lightweight champion of the world. He stood no
chance whatever, but he did not intend to be made
an exhibition of in front of Sallie without doing something
to hold his end up. He proposed to go down
with his flag flying, And in pursuance of this object,
he dug mister Butler heavily in the lower ribs with
his right, causing that expert to clinch, and the two
(36:14):
wise guys to utter sharp barking sounds expressive of derision.
Say what the hell do you think you're getting at,
demanded the aggrieved pugilist in a heated whisper in Ginger's
ear as they fell into the embrace. What's the idea, you, jellybean?
Ginger maintained a pink silence, his jaw was set, and
(36:36):
the temper which nature had bestowed upon him to go
with his hair had reached white heat. He dodged a
vicious right which whizzed up at his chin out of
the breaking clinch, and rushed a left hook shook him,
but was too high to do more. There was rough
work in the far corner, and suddenly, with startling abruptness,
(36:57):
bugs Butler bothered by the ropes at his back, and
trying to side step, ran into a swing and fell
time shouted the scandalized mister Burrows utterly aghast at this
frightful misadventure. In the whole course of his professional experience,
he could recall no such devastating occurrence. The audience was
(37:20):
no less startled. There was audible gasping. The newspaper men
looked at each other with a wild surmise and conjured
up pleasant pictures of their sporting editors receiving this sensational
item of news. Later on over the telephone, the two
wise guys, continuing to pursue mister Butler with their dislike,
emitted loud and raucous laughs, and one of them, forming
(37:44):
his hands into a megaphone, urged the fallen warrior to
go away and get a rep. As for Sally, she
was conscious of a sudden, fierce, cave womanly rush of
happiness which swept away completely the sickening qualms of the
last few minutes. Her teeth were clenched and her eyes
blazed with joyous excitement. She looked at Ginger yearningly, longing
(38:07):
to forget a gentle upbringing, and shout congratulation to him.
She was proud of him, and mingled with the pride
was a curious feeling that was almost fear. This was
not the mild and amiable young man whom she was
wont to mother through the difficulties of a world in
which he was unfitted to struggle for himself. This was
(38:28):
a new Ginger, a stranger to her. On the rare
occasions on which he had been knocked down in the past,
it had been bugs Butler's canny practice to pause for
a while and rest before rising and continuing the argument.
But now he was up, almost before he had touched
the boards, and the satire of the second wise guy
(38:49):
who had begun to saw the air with his hand
and count loudly lost its point. It was only too
plain that mister Butler's motto was that a man may
be down, but he is never out. And indeed the
knockdown had been largely a stumble. Bugs Butler's educated feet,
which had carried him unscathed through so many contests, had
(39:11):
for this single occasion, managed to get themselves crossed just
as Ginger's blow landed, and it was to his lack
of balance rather than the force of the swing that
his downfall had been due time. He snarled, casting a
malevolent side glance at his manager, like hell, it's time,
and in a whirlwind of flying gloves, he flung himself
(39:35):
upon Ginger, driving him across the ring, while mister Burrow's
watch in hand stared with dropping jaw. If Ginger had
seemed a new Ginger to Sally, still more did this
seem a new Bugs Butler to mister Burrows. And the
manager groaned in spirit. Coolness, skill and science. These had
(39:55):
been the qualities in his protegee which had always so
endeared him to Miss Lester Burrows, and had so enriched
their respective bank accounts. And now, on the eve of
the most important fight in his life, before an audience
of newspaper men, he had thrown them all aside and
was making an exhibition of himself with a common sparring partner.
(40:17):
That was the bitter blow to mister Burrows. Had this
lapse into the unscientific primitive happened in a regular fight,
he might have mourned and poured reproof into Bugs's ear
when he got him back in his corner at the
end of the round. But he would not have experienced
this feeling of helpless horror, the sort of horror an
elder of the church might feel if he saw his
(40:39):
favorite bishop yielding in public to the fascination of jazz.
It was the fact that bugs Butler was lowering himself
to extend his powers against a sparring partner that shocked
mister Burrows. There is an etiquette in these things. A
champion may batter his sparring partners into insensibility if he pleases,
(40:59):
but he must do it with nonchalance. He must not
appear to be really trying. And nothing could be more
manifest than that Bugs Butler was trying. His whole fighting
soul was in his efforts to corner Ginger and destroy him.
The battle was raging across the ring, and down the ring,
and up the ring and back again, yet always Ginger,
(41:21):
like a storm driven ship, contrived somehow to weather the tempest.
Out of the flurry of swinging arms. He emerged time
after time, bruised, bleeding, but fighting hard. For bugs Butler's
fury was defeating its object. Had he remained his cool
and scientific self, he could have demolished Ginger and cut
(41:43):
through his defense in a matter of seconds. But he
had lapsed back into the methods of his unskilled novitiate.
He swung and missed, swung and missed again, struck but
found no vital spot. And now there was blood on
his face too, in some wild melee. The sacred fount
had been tapped, and his teeth gleamed through a crimson mist.
(42:06):
The wise guys were beyond speech. They were leaning against
one another, punching each other feebly in the back. One
was crying. And then suddenly the end came, as swiftly
and unexpectedly as the thing had begun. His wild swings
had tired Bugs Butler, and with fatigue, prudence returned to him.
(42:28):
His feet began once more, there subtle weaving in and out.
Twice his left hand flickered home a quick feint, a
short jolting stab, and Ginger's guard was down, and he
was swaying in the middle of the ring, his hands
hanging and his knees a quiver. Bugs Butler measured his
distance and Sally shut her eyes. End of chapter thirteen,
(42:57):
read by Kris Allenberg w w ds W dot kay
dot org on February first, two thousand and nine, in
San Diego, California,
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