Showman (1937)

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SHOWMAN fortune. So the most urgent thing I could think of to say was: "Jim, Jim, you've got to wait. Remember 'Gentleman Jack'— for the Lord's sake, remember 'Gentleman Jack' and do what I tell you!" But Corbett's fighting blood was up and he was beyond worrying about "Gentleman Jack." After the fourth he took the bit in his teeth and waltzed in, coolly, cannily, scientifically cutting Sullivan to ribbons, readying him for the kill. How John L. ever stayed on his feet for the twenty-one rounds it lasted, I never can tell you. It just wasn't in him to quit, that's all. I was so nervous through it all that, after the fight, I discovered I'd eaten most of the palm-leaf fan I had in my hand. The end of it was a picture, triumphant and yet tragic. There stood Corbett, obviously good for fifty rounds more, not a hair mussed as he had promised, not a mark on his face. Nobody ever put a mark on Jim Corbett— after a long ring career his Roman nose was just as shapely as ever. And here lay the great Sullivan, red with blood, prone on the blood-soaked sand, symbolizing for the dumbfounded crowd the end of the whole old tradition of fighters. Licked as he was, the old gladiator was still the gamest of the game. When they got him to his feet, he staggered to the ropes, lifted one huge paw for silence and trumpeted out: "The pitcher went to the well once too often. I was 105