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Show I THK HI I.I.KTIN, HINCHAM ( ANYON, I TAH Jeff's eyes found Helene's and to him the world was young and warm again. WL matter with you m. You never acted like show some interest. Bfaithful Jry. thought m worried . nerves lil the endless training g moments be-W- n etorturcms fluttering about Jeff ithering a lone chick. TJ and Jerry had beer, L years, during which L freed hunger and of Dthe g0''d ,nings 0f hfC-- was right . . . may-- something the matter old lire, the zest for impatience of the blood for action, racing veins. The doubts . . , little stab of fear In a !l heart. Looking back on the little stool in Jeff realized he e 0f them. from his reverie. He the ringside. Big Ballard busy at . microphone. A few m(S to go to broadcast jKed on his stool ... his Kd out the chaotic scene jjB about him . . . filled with memories M again. Eight years :H . . eight years of rK hard work, of sac- - riflce, of punish-- - ment, of patience and the giving up of many of tlie W things that youth loves. But there jSdriving purpose then . . . ttain . riches! Fame Knt much in the early JjHit came and in the last Mn the money came, too. MThe thought of that year K: brought a glow to his -- Bien he met Helene For-- ftt a charity bazaar on K): one of the "appear- - as champion, was fre-t- a upon to make. absolute necessity then . . that had buoyed his lagging courage. But this night the stake was bigger. "Hello, Mr. Stoddard." Mr. For-sythe- 's words were stamped indel-ibly in Jeff's mind. "Helene's told me of you. I don't like the business you're in, but my daughter and you are in love, she says, so the busi-nes- s doesn't matter. But what does matter is, what sort of a life can you offer her?" Jeff felt the warm blood rise to his face and ears as it had done that night at his blurted, idiotic, "She won't starve." Mr. Forsythe had answered, "I'll see to that. That will always be my responsi-bility. She's my daughter." "I'm sorry, Mr. Forsythe," Jeff had managed, and then the words had started to flow . . . senseless, jumbled, one into the other ... "a few more fights ... a $250,000 trust fund ... I love her . . ." Heartsick, feeling his cause had been irretrievably lost, he had stumbled from the room and out of the house. It was midnight before he got enough courage to call her. He told her it was hopeless . . . Ingly . . . "more if we can do busi-ness. You're through, Jeff, you know. A " Jeff still won-dered why he hadn't chased Sam then. "No business," he'd said. And here he was, sitting in a ring corner as he had sat in other ring corners a hundred or more times ... a has-bee- ... at twenty-eight- ! ". . and in this corner, the for-mer middleweight champion of the world, Jeff Stoddard!" Jeff roused . . dreams faded . . he rose and bowed, Jerry fluttered about him. They walked to ring cen-ter for instructions. Jeff sized up his opponent. A likely looking youngster, husky and obviously well-traine- He shook hands and turned back to his own corner. The bell. Jeff slid cautiously to ring cen-ter. Yancey came forward to meet him, left hand extended slightly, chin buried behind a bulging shoul-der. Jeff tried a long left and land-ed, lightly. They came together and Jeff felt a jar on his chin, another and yet another. Stinging blows they were, delivered with amazing speed and with deception. The boy had something. They exchanged blows and again that short, jolting he sat on nis stool, jblivious to everything ories, Jeff felt his heart ad that afternoon. She :iety and he a nobody, tr. They talked for a hen others had taken le didn't get to see her ifternoon. but did sev-ate- r. That was the be-;- y saw more and more !r and soon they were Ie. Jeff had realized the of it all . . . to him she lable . . . but Helene elessness in the situa-e- d on his stool as he that memorable night i upon her father. He'd o scared in his life, ex-th-night when he en-- g for his first fight, his and his spindly legs . but there had been Tney wouia nave 10 w;tu a uu . . . he'd make more money, plenty of money . . Helene had interrupted . . . "Dad didn't say no, did he?" . . . "No," "Oh, you ..." a sob and the click of the phone. His frantic phone calls were fruit-less . . . and then "Miss Forsythe has gone abroad." That was a year ago. He toured the country . . . theatres . . . exhibitions . . . "ap-pearances" ... the money piled up but Jeff has lost interest. Then a match for the championship and his title gone, because one man ... the referee . . . raised another man's hand. And then this . . . Sam Abrams had sought him out . . . Sam had a young chap, up and coming, but he "needed a win over a name" before he could challenge for the title. "There'll be maybe ten grand in it for you," Sam had said. "And, maybe . . ." Sam paused mean-- left found Jeff's face. He'd have to do something about that. Jeff turned to his corner at the bell. A trickle of blood flowed from the cor-ner of his mouth and over his chin. "You gotta do something about that left, Jeff," whispered Jerry. "He'll claw you to ribbons." Jeff stepped forward briskly at the bell for round two. He boxed, he slugged, but that tearing left kept reaching his face. Something warm streamed down his cheek. Jeff realized his eye was cut. He brushed the eye with his right glove and gave ground slowly, drawing Yancey toward him. Jeff's right dropped into position at his chest, he feinted with his left and there was the opening he sought. His right fist shot out, the weight of his powerful shoulders driving it home. It landed and at the impact Jeff felt a searing pain shoot up his arm to the shoulder. For a fraction of a second he felt dizzy and then a nau- - seous feeling hit the middle of his stomach. His eyes cleared and he saw Yancey getting off the floor. The punch must have landed high, thought Jeff. His only hope now was a quick left hook. He stepped for-ward, ignoring the pain in his right hand, feinted for an opening, saw it and punched. He missed. His last chance gone. The bell. He sank heavily on the stool. "Did you bust it?" Jerry whis-pered. "I don't know," Jeff answered. "But don't touch it, others might see." "Yeah, but you can't go on with a busted right," argued Jerry. "Keep quiet," said Jeff, and as the bell rang for round three he rose to meet Yancey. Earlier that evening, at the For-sythe home, Helene laced her fa-ther across the dinner table. "Dad," she said, "take me to the Arena tonight, please. Jeff is . . ." "Still in love with that boy?" "I've never stopped loving him, Dad. But . . ." Now, a short distance from ring-side, thev sat. The girl, white-face-tense, as she watched the stark drama unfolding in that brilliantly-whit- e square ahead. It seemed hours to the girl tor-tuous hours-t- hat they had been sit-ting there, when her father leaned toward her. "I'm sold, Helene," he said tersely. "And I thought that boy lacked courage. Let's get out." a a a dressing room, Jeff Later, in the sat hunched on the rubbing table. mightily to hold Jerry striving back the tears, was gently remov-ing the tape and bandages from Jeff's swollen right hand. The room was empty, but through the walls came the rumble of voices and laughter. "Nobody has time for a loser," thought Jeff. Mr. Forsythe walked into the rHello Jeff," he said. He laid his shoulder. "That was hand on Jeff's magnificent stand you made out a men have that there. Mighty few courage - and, more important. the onfy man Helene says you're for her and who am I to . . . Jeff glanced past Mr Forsythe found Helene's. 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