Evening star. [volume], July 07, 1940, Page 15, Image 91

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
Morgan Dannis
It’s the Little Thing* That Count
THE POISON PUNCH
Continued from pago so von
which didn't suit Lew’s style at all.
After a summer of hot-and-cold re
sults, he and Kdtie were unhappy.
They had no friends, and they talked
over the idea of returning to Dallas,
or Sweetwater. Waiting for success in
New York was too much like a prison
sentence.
So they called Fred Browning long
distance and told him their woes.
But Fred advised them to stay on and
look up another manager to handle
things By coincidence, their free
lance second and trainer, Willie
Ketcham, also worked for Manager
“Howling Hymie” Caplin, who has a
penchant for turning up with world’s
champions. Hymie has howled four
of them into titles — A1 Singer, Ben
Jeby, Lou Salica and Solly Krieger —
and he felt confident of howling Jenk
ins into something too.
Hymie moved in and took over in
October of last year. Fighting his first
Garden bout, Jenkins knocked out
Primo Flores in five rounds. Six weeks
later he kayoed Mike Belloise in seven
rounds and broke three of Mike's ribs.
A month after that he stopped Billy
Marquart in three rounds of Garden
fighting.
During the long weeks between
fights last fall, Jenkins worked off ex
cess energy by training with the New
York Giants pro footballers. So great
was the maverick’s fire and determina
tion on the gridiron that Coach Steve
Owen gave him a regular uniform.
Planning a definite campaign, the
astute Hymie Caplin took Jenkins
back to Dallas in early January, where
he fought a return bout with Chino
Alvarez and pul that gentleman to
sleep in just twenty-four seconds.
The only blot was now erased from
his scutcheon. Reappearing in Madi
son Square Garden last March,
Jenkins kayoed Tippy Larkin with
see to — so many things to attend.”
"I know,” I said.
She was fumbling in her bag. She
drew out a little jeweler's box and
handed it to me. “Here,” she said.
"Better take that back.”
1 knew what it was, of course —
her ring. I slipped it into my pocket.
“I'll see you to your train,” I said.
But Dutch didn’t move. “No,” she
said. “I’d rather not. If you don’t
mind.”
We stood in silence for a space. She
lifted her eyes to mine. “Well —
goodby, Hal — ”
Then she was in my arms, crying,
straining me to her. “Don't go,
IXitch,” I pleaded. “Let’s try again.
I swear I’ll make good for you, in a
big way — ”
In a bin way — I could have bitten
my tongue off. I knew I’d lost her,
even before she pulled away from me.
She gave me one eloquent look, then
turned on her heel and walked stead
ily to the gate, not wavering, not even
looking back.
I stayed there until her train pulled
out. Then I went back to my office.
My secretary brought me a sheaf
of messages. “Never mind those,”
I said. “Get me Miss Fordyce on the
phone."
For a wonder Gwen was in. “Hiyah,
Toots," I said.
Her crisp young voice came lilting
over the wire. “Hello, Hard-to-get.
Got me on the front page again?”
“That ain’t all,” I said. “I'm going
to land there right with you.’®
"You? How come?”
“When we crack up.”
"1 hope you mean what I think you
mean,” she said.
"You dared me to fly with you,
didn't you? And I never take a dare.”
“Hot diggety!” she exclaimed. “I
knew we’d get somewhere.”
“I’m going to be busy as the devil
between now and Friday. Where do
you take off?”
"Glendale."
“What time?”
“Eight o'clock."
“I’ll be there.”
REPOSSESSED
Continued from page twelve
That's how I bummed my way to
Chicago. And it was fair sailing ^1
the way. When we landed for gas at
the flying field in Chicago, dense snow
clouds were lowering over the city.
"This is as far as I go,” I told Gwen.
She was sore as hell. "You mean
you're not going on to New York?”
I shook my head. "I just wanted to
show you I wasn’t afraid,” I said.
“It’s been nice seem' you.”
So she took off for New York in
low clouds and high dudgeon, and
that's the last time I ever laid eyes
on her.
The next morning I barged into the
Drake and told the switchboard oper
ator to phone Dutch there was a Star
reporter waiting to see her. Pretty
Sc fan
"I'm Chief Bubbling Brook,
from Camp Laughing Waters.
Can we please borrow a cup
of sugar from you?"
five punches. Then Chicago called for
Jenkins to come out and battle Davey
Day for the right to meet Lou Ambers,
but Hymie Caplin howled a reverber
ant ‘‘No!” and screamed for Ambers
or nothing. And it turned out to be
the right scream.
Few have seen a more businesslike
attack than that which Jenkins direct
ed against the former lightweight
champion. No opponent had ever
sailed into Ambers with more punch
and direction. And it wasn’t a one
punch affair, because Ambers could
n’t be stopped that way. He’s too
great a fighter, too shrewd a cam
paigner. He was simply hit harder and
more often than ever before.
Why the Grin?
It was only a matter of time after
that first-round knockdown,” Jenkins
explained in analyzing what had hap
pened. “He came up off the floor an’
started to grin at me. Now, what’s a
man grin in the ring for? Ah said.
‘Oh-oh, he’s through!’ because that
grinnin’ meant he was hurt. So Ah
sailed into him every time. The Army
teaches you that, but it can’t teach
it if you’re not a fighter.
“Armstrong’s a fighter, an' a great
fighter,” Jenkins continued. “He’s
better’n Ambers, but he’s goin’ to
be hit an' hit plenty as he comes in
to crowd me. And if he can take
what Ah got in mah two han’s, he’s
a greater fighter than Ah ever knew
existed!”
Returning to Texas after his vic
tory over Ambers, Jenkins enjoyed
another triumph in the form of a gift
of the most expensive watch he ever
saw. He had admired it the day he
first visited the Fred Brownings, and
almost fainted when Mrs. Browning
told him it was worth nearly a thou
sand dollars. You can imagine how
he felt when she said that it would be
his — as soon as he won the light
weight championship. He had her on
the telephone within two hours after
he had beaten Ambers, and reminded
her of the promise.
“It’s waiting here,” she replied
from Dallas. "I had your name and
everything engraved on it today —
before you went into the ring.”
soon the girl gave me the room num
ber and told me to go on up.
When Dutch saw me she didn’t
know whether to laugh or cry.
"Hal!’’ she exclaimed. "But, she
said — ”
“Sure,” I said. "Big newspaper man
from the middle west,” and I showed
her the nice new Star press card with
my name on it.
She looked at the card, and looked
at me, and her hand trembled so the
little pasteboard fluttered to the floor.
"You mean you — you haven’t
really — ”
“The old man was tickled to death
to get me back,” I said. Then I took
her in my arms. “You little dope, did
you really think you could run out on
me and get away with it?”
When Dutch had had her cry out
and everything was back to normal,
I drew her ring out of my pocket and
tossed it into her lap. “That repre
sents the total of my take in Holly
wood. Business, good will, car equity
and some very natty sports clothes.
It’s paid in full. Sell it, hock it, give
it away or throw it out the window.
It’s all yours.”
She slipped it on her finger. “Give
it away nothing!” she said. “It’s swell.
It’s front!”
And we both laughed.
I looked at my watch. “Come on,”
I said. "Snap into it. We have a little
marryin’ business to do today.”
“You’ve waited three years,” she
cracked. “I guess you can wait until
I get unpacked. I haven't touched my
trunks.”
“But you’ve been here two days,
haven’t you?”
"Ye-es.” She looked fussed. “I just
didn’t get around to it.”
I glanced at her sharply. Then it
dawned on me. “Dutch,” I said, “you
were going back.”
She shook her head but she would
n’t meet my eye.
“Own up now. Weren’t you going
back?”
“I don’t know,” said Dutch, breath
lessly. “I’ll never know!”
Hi* End
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