Old

Time and again and again, a wizened little old man flung himself feverishly, but feebly, upon a young Hebrew desperado at the Velodrome, Manhattan. Thus assaulted, the desperado angrily smashed the old man back and down, with crushing blows on the face. At length the ancient, blood-smeared and sick, staggered weakly away.

The quarrel was over a purse -and the world's bantamweight boxing championship. The desperado was Abie Goldstein, "Harlem assassin," titleholder, whose boxing on this occasion was now brilliantly clever, now dismally stupid. The little old man was Charley Ledoux, of France, aged 32, bantamweight champion of Europe, who had come to America a third time ("and last," said he) with titular intentions.

...

Between rounds, towel-flappers and sponge-squeezers sprang through the ropes to revive, rehearten Little Old Man Ledoux. Over these loomed a being, tall, statuesque, godlike.

"Who," whispered the nudging spectators, "can he be but that Georges Carpentier, that Gorgeous Orchid Man?"

Carpentier it was indeed, old friend of Little Old Man Ledoux. They have the same manager, Descamps; the same trainer, Gus Wilson; the same training quarters (for the present), the Jack Curley estate, at Great Neck, L. I. In 1909, when the "Gorgeous Orchid Man" was a bantamweight, Ledoux fought Carpentier (unsuccessfully).

...

Stepping into a sumptuous motor after Ledoux' fight, the "G. O. M." was wafted back to Great Neck to continue his training for Gene Tunney and the American light-heavyweight title on July 24. Callers continued plentiful. They dropped in to scrutinize, criticize, ogle, or just greet. The rustle of skirts was heard almost continuously. Conversation was reported as running along social, theatrical, bootlegging lines. Georges took his exercises regularly, strenuously, but gave the impression that they were work.

At Red Bank, N., J., sport writers discovered a different scene. In the garage of the Shrewsbury Golf Club, attentively watched by admiring natives, Tunney raced through his work, flew at sparring partners chosen for their speed, appeared to be glorying in every exercise. Critics had said he lacked the "killer instinct." He belied the criticism. Experts had said his left hand would be his greatest asset. He gave promise of justifying the prediction. After the workouts, talk was of golf and real estate, Mr. Tunney's avocations.