Showman (1937)

SHOWMAN —how that man could feint!— and put him away with one punch. His straight man in that department was his sparring-partner, another mixed-ale fighter named Jim Daly. Daly lived fighting so thoroughly that, whatever he started to do, whether shake hands or say it was a nice day or order a drink, he always led off with a boxing attitude as naturally as a Nazi says "Heil Hitler." Daly, Corbett and the local boy would all be in the dressing-room together before the fight and Daly's and Corbett's conversation would run something like this: "Say, Jim," Daly would say, "ever get any more word about the fellow in Chillicothe?" "Oh, he's all right," Corbett would say, getting out of his pants. "He'll live, anyhow. I was talking to Bill about sending something to his family." "They finally brought him to, did they?" "After a while," Corbett would reply. "The doctor wrote Bill about it. He was out for a day and a half and I guess his jaw's gone for good, but I feel better now I know I didn't kill him." < "Gosh, Jim," Daly would answer, "you just donno your own strength. You better be careful with this one." They staged it well— and there was a lot more. I rehearsed them letter-perfect and natural as an old shoe. And, after ten minutes or so of such softening up, you'd fairly have to carry the local boy into the ring. Not that we always got away with that. There used 88