Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1908-12-29
Can't a Fellow Restp

Oh, wurra, wurra, wurra, what a time
l have had since that large black gem
man, Mr.. Johnsng, hammered the map
off the peerless Canuck, Mr.. Tommy
Burns. No rest for me until the returns
are al in What returns? The fellows
who want to take the championship title
away from the Big Smoke. Here's the
list to date:
Gus Rubin. who now keeps a palatial
cafay in Brooklyn, and who is badly In
need of an ad.
Thomas GouSerneur Sharkey. who keeps
a ditto on 1ith street, Manhattan, but
who has to turn customers away-when
they're broke.
Philadelphia Jack O'Brien, who always
bites a nickel before he hands it in to a
conductor, so that he is sure of first bite
if the nickel Is good.
Sandy Ferguson the Spoiled Child of
Boston, who trains on a rock pile and
eats iron bars, but hasn't yet knocked
d ninepin.
AL kubiak. the Esauimau snowshoveler.
alias DAILY the Kerry Thripper. charter
member of the Yon Yonson Fudge Club.
Sam Langford, also from Boston and
locally known as the Harry Haggerty
ALTAR Baby, who has licked lot of
stiffs in his time.
Stanley Ketche1. who was blown into
town as the Montana Whirlwind'' and
wants to pop up out OF his claSS-and,
look who's here.
Mike Morrissey, the Sand Cart Driver
who was the most graceful sleeper that
ever took paid-for punch within the
ropes, and who has just arrived from
the archives.
There were others, but they have slip
ped me. Probably ] will hear of more
of them-here you Fogarty kid, answer
that phone and say that all challenges
to Mistah Jack Johnson must be cabled
by the challenger to Hugh Mcintosh,
Sydney. New South Wales, and cable
tolls are s. word.
The Novelist's Story.
Well, WELL it's hard session when
a fellow can't beat it to Lakewood after
the strain of that awful fight and the
clamor OF the fistic mob to get hunk
with the coon. An mind We, the worst
of it came in special cable by way of
Spitzbergen. where novel writer said
that Johnson turned his lampblack ribs
to his erring white antagonist an said,
seq he, hit me ferst here and then here,
an some of us fell fur it. I heard peo-
pie say that Johnson had it all his way
after they had read that belated and
belabored story, but I didn't hear any
wan sowl say a word but that the whole
thing was a fine novel.
Amy how-w-w. it's a great sign for
tho shuperiority of the white race TO
have some of them comm out of their
StdScS W tHdiIeHSc tIitS DIdCh uuCh
An it's just as well for me to say a
kind word for the naygers right here.
Somebody, somewhere. at some time
said that the naygur has sthrake of
yalla in him. Well, I haven't seen it
nor has anybody else that / know .ex-
cept the cussin' chap who hates him
because, because when given a chance
the naygur, like all other prosecuted fell
lows. will even things up. Don't let
me 90 into hsthry. It's full of this
and it puts the coon in good on every
page.
Where Is the YellowP
Did George Dixon ever show yalla
sthrake? Did Joe Wolcott? Did Joe
Cans? Did Petah Jackson? Did George
Godfrey? Not that anybody ever saw
it, and the actual fact is that each of
those coons always carried the fight right
TO his man. And not one of them quit
in his corner until he was knuckled un-
der by that underrated champion at all
weights, Jack Barleycorn.
Maybe. says voice. Jack Johnson
didn't back down from Jeffries when
the alfalfa farmer invited him into a
room with the pleasing intent to knock
his big black block off
Yes. he did. SON. said Algernon
Washington Green. the head pointer OF
the Chicken Gravy Club. who dropped
in on me while the voice was busy But
Jeff had million white men around
him with blood in their eyes for a cullud
man. But. say, let Jack Johnson take
thirty coons with him and let any man
challenge him and bring thirty whites
along and let the whites an the blacks
stay on one side, an let Johnson an the
white man stay inside, an let them lock
the doh an nail down the windys. an let
the band play, an who'll get the bacon %