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SHOWMAN
Corbett was concerned. We went after him with every dodge known to the fight game. Corbett actually pulled his nose one night in Green's Hotel in Philadelphia. But even that didn't get us anywhere. It was two years before Fitz stepped into a ring again to defend his title. On that occasion I supplied both the man who beat him and the diplomatic wiles that trapped him into making the match. But the sad part of it was that it wasn't Jim Corbett who turned the trick.
So Corbett and I turned to baseball, as the possibility of a return match gradually faded out. There was baseball in the Corbett family— Jim's brother Joe once pitched the old Baltimore Orioles to a championship—and Jim himself was a slick performer on the diamond. After all, a lightning quick eye and perfect co-ordination are the essence of a good ball-player and he had those qualities to burn. His hitting left a good deal to be desired, but he was a whiz on defense— put him on first base and he looked like big league stuff. Nobody could ever accuse Jim Corbett of not being versatile— I've seen him turn his hand to fighting, acting, lecturing, ball-playing, movie-acting, vaudevilletrouping, after-dinner speaking, health-doctoring and infielding, and there were no flies on him in any of those departments.
We started with the Paterson, N. J., club of the old Atlantic League— an outfit which included Ed Barrow as manager and Hans Wagner, coming up from the
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