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SHOWMAN
fore the fight began, she obscured the view like a middle western thunderhead.
The senator looked a trifle put out when, as the proceedings began, this beauteous and overstuffed Amazon climbed in and sat down beside him. When she began to root— and she began with the bell and never stopped till the last of the ten counts that lost Corbett his title— the senator huddled away into a far corner of the box as if he'd been put in the same cage with a lunatic elephant. But there was no getting away from her as she jumped up and down and waved her arms and pounded the rail. She had a voice like one of these new-fangled hooters on ocean liners:
"Work on him, Bob!" she hollered. "Bust him in the slats! . . . Blast him through the ropes! . . . He's yellow, Bob, he's yellow! . . . Make him stand up and fight, darling! . . . The belly, Bob, the belly! Right in the old breadbasket!" and so forth and so on, with the senator so flabbergasted by this couple of hundredweight of screeching female that he couldn't look at the fight at all— and the spectators all over the arena roaring with laughter and cheering Mrs. Fitz on almost as much as they cheered the fighters.
When Fitz went down in the sixth, the lady almost broke a blood vessel and you could have heard her in Sacramento. After every round she'd hurl herself out of the box and go lean over the ropes behind Fitz's chair— the first time anybody had ever seen a woman
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