Indianapolis Times, Volume 45, Number 156, Indianapolis, Marion County, 9 November 1933 — Page 21

NOV. 9, 1933

“THE PRIZEFIGHTER AND THE LADY” From th> Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Picture Starting Friday at Loews Palace

CHAPTER ONE A SEEDY looking gentleman of the old school approached the free lunch counter in the speakeasy bar and eyed the cheese, crackers, salami and liverwurst with a professional air.. He hooked his cane over the counter, laid down a pair of shabby gloves and made himself a sandwich of liverwurst and crackers. He ate it hungrily and was putting out his hand for more crackers when the bar-tender’s warning voice arrested him. “Hi there, Professor.” There was no welcome In the glance that met the Professor's eyes and the gentleman of the old school picked up his gloves and cane and walked slowly back of the men lined up at the bar. examining faces keenly, looking for one friendly enough to stand him a drink. He stopped back of a slightly intoxicated man who was saying to his companion: "They got some pretty good heavies coming along. I was over at the Garden the other night and there was a fella in the semiwindup—” The professor pushed his way in between the two convivial men. “Ah, gentlemen, we meet again!” He gave an order to the barkeep without a glance at him: "Scotch — and a very little soda, please,” and continued to the men upon whom he had fastened himself: "I heard you speaking of heavyweights, gentlemen. I tell you this rthole generation of prizefighters is an army of adagio dancers! "Where are the Sullivans, the Fitzsimmonses, the Terry McGoverns, the Young Gaffneys? Writhing in their graves, gentlemen! Hammering their glorious fists on their tombstones! Aching to get out and show these club-footed whifflebrains what real fighters are!” "Come on, Professor,” interrupted the barkeep. "Four bits, pay up.” "Don’t interrupt me. young man!” The professor sipped his drink. "That moon-faced pimple couldn’t have contaminated the Hoffman house bar for five minutes! Shall we sit down, gentlemen?” They found a table near where two pickpockets were arguing over a “moll.” a a a "npERRIBLE how the riff-raff A creeps into these places,” sighed the professor. "The days of old. sitting quietly over a bottle—” “You managed Young Gaffney in the old days, didn't you?” interrupted one if his annexed hosts. "Did I manage Young Gaffney?” The professor’s face lighted up. "He was my boy! His knees never touched canvas! A left like a snake's tongue! A right like a falling safe! A heart like Gibraltar—and game as a pit bull!” "Big guy, wasn’t he?” "A week before the Great Promoter told him to lay aside his gloves —May 27, 1906—and I've been drunk ever since, gentlemen—he w T as 194 pounds of man. and with the speed of a futurity filly” The argument of the two pickpockets was becoming heated and annoying. A barkeeper tapped on the glass he was polishing. At its tinkle a young man passing beer kegs down a cellar, holding a keg in midair, glanced at the barkeep, followed his nod in the direction of the pickpockets. He put down the keg, advanced to the quarrelers and said quietly: "Hey, boys, this isn’t a broadcasting station. Turn off the loudspeakers.” "Gawan! Scram!” said one of the men, while his fellow started toward the bouncer. "Who asked you to put your big frying pan into—” BUM THE bouncer's fist landed on the jaw of the first "monkey," flooring him. He came back with an uppercut which laid the second quarreler out cold. He picked up one of the men by the shirt front, the other by the coat collar and dragged them off into the lobby. "Here, Joe. throw ’em the rest of the way. Wait a second!” "There’s a prospect, Professor," paid one of his listeners, but the sponger abruptly left the table without reply. He took up a position near the bouncer who had resumed tossing kegs into the cellar, and watched the ease with which he handled them. "What's the matter, Uncle?” grinned the bouncer. "You're new here, aren’t you? How long have you been in New York?” "About three weeks.” "Where were you before that?” "Australia—then Singapore.” "Oh, a sailor, eh? What did you do in Singapore?” "Sat in the parlor of a Joint. Threw out the drunks and kept dames from knifing each other.” "Been in lots of brawls, street fights," mused the professor, "and not marked up. Do you like to fight?” "Sure.” grinned the bouncer, "That's why I'm here —not that it gets me any place.” "That's for me to judge. ' Come with me.” nun THE Professor went to an alcove where there was a pay-tele-phone booth. With an amused, questioning glance, the bouncer followed. "Boy. you stick with me and I'll make you your fortune.” He fumbled in his pocket' "hmmm . . . have you got a nickel?" With a grin the young man pulled a nickel from his pocket and handed it over. When he got his party on the wire, the Professor said: "I understand Maloney's boy got a necklace of boils and dropped out for Friday night. . . Yes. . . Well. I’ve got the boy to take his place . . . Now listen. Jake, this is the old-time ProTessor talking. "I haven't had a drop for a month and I've had this boy under wraps all the time. He s like Delaney, only better. . . Oh. sure. I understand that. . . Oh, all right, Jake, if you can't make it two hundred we'll take one hundred for the first fight. It's a deal, Jake.” He hung up the receiver. “There you are, my boy. You get a hundred

dollars for a little easy sparring next Friday night.” "How much of it do you get?" "As your manager I retain sis hmm. well forty dollars. What do you say?” "Well. . .” The speakeasy proprietor bustled up. “Say, I told you to empty those spittoons along the bar! Go and do it now.” The bouncer stood grinning at him. "Did Vou hear what I said?” a a u THE bouncer reached for his hat and coat. “You empty ’em. Tony. And rub it in your scalp. Maybe it'll grow mushrooms.” He followed the professor out of the bar. "So I get sixty bucks. There’s no catch in this, is there, Uncle?” "Why of course not! All you have to do is. . . By the way. . . Ah. how is your wind?” "Searrh me. I haven’t moved faster than a walk for months.” “We. . . ah, perhaps we’d better do a little roadwork. "What's your name, Uncle?” "Bennett. Edward J Bennett. My intimates call me professor.” “Okay, Professor, I’m Morgan— Steve Morgan.” "Morgan—good ring name, that.” So Steve Morgan left off speakeasy bouncing to become a prizefighter. It was crack of dawn. Along a Long Island country road a Ford car was ambling: at its side trotted Steve Morgan, dressed in old dungarees and a sweater. "Did that . . . young fellow ...” puffed Steve, "have to do . . . this marathon stuff?” “Ah, my boy, Gaffney trained magnificently. He’d run ten miles and come back with the speed of an antelope! Skipped the rope like a flyweight.” "Well, it looks like after Friday night Young Morgan is going to change his profession. This is brutal! ” The Professor took one hand from the wheel of the Ford, drew a bottle from his pocket and raised it to his lips as the roar of an approaching motor startled them. "Hey, Professor, look out!” Steve jumped upon the running board and the professor pulled to one side of the road. A large sports phaeton zoomed past at seventy miles an hour. It barely missed them, and in trying to right itself skidded off the road and overturned in the ditch. Steve ran to the car and saw a uniformed chauffeur, who had been thrown clear, getting up slowly, holding his head. Half up, he relaxed upon the ground. Projecting from the side of the car were a pair of beautiful, silkclad legs. Taking hold of the legs, Steve disentangled them from the cushions and drew from the overturned car a startlingly beautiful young woman in evening dress and white evening wrap. She was moaning slightly. nan STEVE carried the young woman up the bank and laid her down on the grass. On his knees beside her, he saw her eye lids flutter. "Keep your head, sister. Can you talk?” "Mother said . . . there’d be days like this,” muttered the girl, as though half delirious. She was soaked and muddy from having landed in the ditch, and her teeth began to chatter. "Where do you hurt?” asked Steve, solicitously. "I'm w-w-wet .. . C-c-old,” she chattered, opening her eyes. Steve pulled off his sweater, revealing his muscular torso, and wrapped it around her shoulders. "It’s kind of sweaty,” he apologized. "Oh-kay. I'm the athletic t-type.” Steve laughed at her gameness, and called to the Professor who was helping the dazed chauffeur to his feet: "How is he? On his, feet to stay?” "Get back here in your corner, son," said the Professor, leading the chauffeur to a tree. "Stay with him,” said Steve and started toward a farmer w r ho came running up from a field. "Go call a doctor!” he shouted to the man. who at once turned and made for a house a quarter of a mile back on the road. Steve returned to the girl. "There's a farmhouse back here a piece, sister. Let's make for it.” He picked her up in his arms and started down the road. He opened the door of the house and carried the girl into the parlor where he heard the farmer saying into the telephone: "I don't know how badly they are hurt, but hurry, will you doc?” ana STEVE laid the girl on a horsehair sofa as the farmer hung up the receiver. "Got any whisky? Hot water —anything?” While the farmer dashed into the kitchen. Steve removed the sweater and her evening wrap from the girl's shoulders. He eyed her gown. "Here, let's peel this,” and he lowered the shoulder straps. "B-b-but . . .” she started to protest, her teeth chattering. "Don't mind about me. I was raised with seven sisters. Unhooks here, doesn't it?” Standing back of the sofa, Steve pulled the dress over the girl's head, gave her figure an admiring glance, picked up a quilt from the back of the couch and wrapped it about her. She huddled in it up to her chin. "Th-thanks. Glad you dropped by.” "Your chauffeur almost dropped me first.” replied Steve, tucking the quilt more closely about her. "He'd been up all night. Went to sleep I guess. Is he all right?” "Yep.” He sat down on the edge of the couch and ran a hand over her. legs under the quilt. “How about you? Any bones broken?” "Oh, I'm still solid. I was dam near petrified for a minute.” "Sometimes a fracture, you know,” said Steve, going on with his examination.” Or a joint bruise . . .” The girl, watched his hands a moment as they examined her thigh and looked up at him warningly. "Don't you think you'd better take my word for it?” a a a GRINNING. Steve withdrew from his examination. "You're okay. I always liks to discover things for myself, though” "Well. I don't like that kind of exploring!” (To Be Continued)

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE APE MAN

Tarzan was much amused at Jean's sputterings as he ducked her beneath the water. "Stop it—let me go!” she demanded. "Go?” he said, recognizing the sound of the word. "Yes—go!” she said, angrily, trying to push him away. Tarzan promptly ducked her again, saying: “Go!”

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As she came up and he held her fit arm s length, he questioned: "Go?” "Yes!" sputtered Jean. Struggling and trying to cling to him as Tarzan pretended to duck her again, she shrieked: "No—no! Don't! “Don’t!” repeated Tarzan, ducking her again.

—By Ahern

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Then he saw that she had enough and brought her to the surface. Jean said, humorously rueful: “I didn’t say duck—l said don’t!” Pretending he was going to duck her again, Tarzan said: “Don t?” Jean, clinging to him desperately, screamed: "No —No—No! Please!”

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

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Tarzan looked at her and smiled, apparently touched by Jean’s fright. Gently, he said: "Jean— * With one eye on the river’s bank which w T as now well within reach, Jean smiled at him hypocritically. She patted his face, cooing, "Tarzan.” Ha was so surprised that she managed to escape from his grasp.

PAGE 21

—By Williams

—By Blosser

■—By Crane

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—By Martin