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SHOWMAN
Years afterward Jeff did do just that when he met Corbett in San Francisco. But Corbett was even older then— and it struck me on this occasion that trying to outspar Gentleman Jim, on the basis of a few months of instruction, was about as silly as trying to outsing a nightingale after six months of voice-lessons. I argued my head off without getting anywhere. When I saw Corbett in the ring at Coney Island, looking as slim and fast and nippy as ever, my heart sank. Rumors that the fight was fixed— a nice thing to have to cope with —had permeated the whole sporting world and we drew hardly $35,000. I did my best to show it was on the level by conspicuously making ringside bets right up into the tenth round, till I had $3500 of my own up on my man. But it was a mess any way you looked at it.
I sat and suffered while Jeff tried to outspar Corbett for twenty-two rounds, the same kind of bad judgment Sullivan had shown at Chantilly when he tried to outspeed Mitchell. Corbett danced round Jeff in the grand old style, punching him where and when he wished— in the tenth he got clean home on Jeff's jaw and shook him clear to his heels. Jeff's face was rapidly turning into raw beefsteak, cut to ribbons by Corbett's slashing left. Then I started arguing and pleading with him to stop this fancy business and wade in naturally. Ryan, who was Jeff's second, was sassing me back all the time. Presently it went so far that he ordered me out of the corner. So I went and got Inspector Billy
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