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Show FICTION 1 l,flS BEEtl Pi m t l Hy (;i:m: huockii.vi:n I j r I ( itrrer ' 1 1 f -t ' A v fi ... i L i C --a Jeff's eyes found llelene's and to him the world was young and warm 1114. tin. AW HAT'S the matter with you. ' ' Jeff? You never neted UUo this before. Show some lulortst. Snap out of It!" Good old faithful Jerry, thought JetT. Always worried . . . nerves Jittery, liming the endless training days and the torturous moments before be-fore the bell, tlutteiin,: about Jolt like a hen motherinfi a lone chlek. Eicht years lie and Jerry had been together. Eiejtt years, during which they had often faced hunger and of late a few of the good things of life. Maybe Jerry was right . . . maybe may-be there was something the matter with him. The old lire, the zest for battle, the impatience for action, the exhilaration of the blood, racing through his veins. The doubts . . . yes, and that little stab of fear in a corner of his heart. Looking back now, as he sat on the little stool in the ring corner, JelT realized he had felt none of them. Jeff roused from his reverie. He glanced around the ringside. Big crowd. Announcer Ballard busy at the hanging microphone. A few more minutes to go to broadcast time. Jeff relaxed on his stool . . . his mind blotted out the chaotic scene about him . . . filled I with memories TV,:- again. Eight years lnlS ... eight years of Wesk's hard work, of sacrifice, sac-rifice, of punlsh-Bsst punlsh-Bsst ment, of patience . . and the giving up Fiction of many of the things that youth loves. But there had been a driving purpose then . . . a goal to attain . . . riches! Fame hadn't meant much in the early years, but it came and in the last few years the money came, too. Champion! The thought of that year as champion brought a glow to his soul. And then he met Helene For-sythe. For-sythe. It was at a charity bazaar on Long Island, one of the "appearances" "appear-ances" Jeff, as champion, was frequently fre-quently called upon to make. Again, as he sat on his stool, completely oblivious to everything but his memories, Jeff felt his heart sink as it had that afternoon. She was rich, society and he a nobody, a prizefighter. They talked for a while and then others had taken him away. He didn't get to see her again that afternoon, but did several sev-eral weeks later. That was the beginning. be-ginning. They saw more and more of each other and soon they were deeply in love. Jeff had realized the hopelessness of it all . . . to him she , was unattainable . . . but Helene taw no hopelessness in the situation situa-tion at all. Jeff shivered on his stool as he lived again that memorable night he had called upon her father. He'd never been so scared in his life, except ex-cept maybe that night when he entered en-tered the ring for his first fight, his beUy empty and his spindly legs rubbery . . . but there had been absolute necessity then . . . that had buoyed his lagging courage. But this night the stake was bigger. "Hello, Mr. Stoddard." Mr. Forsyte's For-syte's words were stamped indelibly indel-ibly in Jefl's mind. "Hclene'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 business busi-ness 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 responsibility. 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 . .' . They would have to wait a bit . . . 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 fruitless fruit-less . . . and then "Miss Forsythe has gone abroad." That was a year ago. He toured the country . . . theatres . . . exhibitions . . . "appearances" "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 ingly . . . "more if we can do business. busi-ness. You're through, Jeff, you know. A has-been." Jeff still wondered 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-been ... at twenty-eight! ". . . and in this corner, the former for-mer middleweight champion of the world, Jeff Stoddard!" Jell roused . . . dreams faded . . . he rose and bowed, Jerry fluttered about him. They walked to ring center cen-ter for instructions. Jeff sized up his opponent. A likely looking youngster, husky and obviously well-trained. He shook hands and turned back to his own corner. The bell. Jeff slid cautiously to ring center. cen-ter. Yancey came forward to meet him, left hand extended slightly, chin buried behind a bulging shoulder. shoul-der. Jeff tried a long left and landed, 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 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 corner 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 forward, 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 whispered. 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 Forsythe For-sythe home, Helene faced her father 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 ringside, ring-side, they sat. The girl, white-faced, tense, as she watched the stark drama unfolding in that brilliantly-white brilliantly-white square ahead. It seemed hours to the girl tortuous tor-tuous hours that they had been sitting 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." Later, in the dressing room, Jeft sat hunched on the rubbing table. Jerry, striving mightily to hold back the tears, was gently removing 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 room. "Hello Jeff," he said. He laid his hand on Jeff's shoulder. "That was a magnificent stand you made out there. Mighty few men have that courage and, more important, Helene says you're the only man for her and who am I to . . ." Jeff glanced past Mr. Forsythe and his eyes found Helene's. She nodded and smiled . . . and to him the world was young and warm again. |