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SHOWMAN
They wanted a Mitchell-Corbett fight and a Hall-Fitzsimmons fight. The Hall-Fitzsimmons thing came off in New Orleans and a week later, after Hall was beaten, Baird was found dead in his room in the St. Charles Hotel with only ten cents in his pocket. They tried to make out it was suicide.
In the meantime, however, Mitchell's tongue, which could take the hair off at fifty yards, and Baird's money, had got Corbett where they wanted him. Mitchell rode Corbett the way the bench rides the opposition pitcher, and his command of Billingsgate was something to hear. It wasn't unusual in those times for a fighter trying to get a match to accost his man in a barroom and, in the old conventional phrase, challenge him to come down in the cellar, throw the key away and see who was the better man on the spot. Shouted out above the conversation, with every man in the place listening, that was an impressive stunt. But Mitchell was the only man I ever saw who meant it. If Corbett had said yes, Charley would have been down the cellar stairs in two shakes.
But Jim was still cool enough to let it go. He made much the same answer as old Peter Jackson, the brave Australian negro, when a fighter invited him to come down cellar and throw away the key.
"Mister," said Jackson, "I don't know how you feel about it, but I'd rather get some money when I fight. That's my business."
Mitchell had the answer to that too. Baird and he
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