Morris tribune. [volume] (Morris, Minn.) 1880-2000, 1914-05-01


quantity of bear meat broiled over the
Goals. OF this the young fellow ate
.avenously, and Stubener OWNED that
10Th the Glendons were accustomed to
IN almost straight meat diet
Old Pat did all the talking, though it
vas not till the meal was ended that
lie preached the subject he had at
heart.
Pat, boy" he began. You know
who the gentleman isl"
Young Pat nodded and cast quick,
comprehensive glance at the manager
well, he'll be takin' you away with
aim and down to San Francisco
I'D sooner stay here, dad" was the
answer.
Stubener felt prick of disappoint-
ment. 1t was wild goose chase aft
er all. This was no fighter, eager and
tretting to be at it. His huge Drawn
counted for nothing. 1t was nothing
new. 1t was the big fellows that
Usually had the streak of fat.
But old Pats Celtic wrath fared up
and his voice was harsh with COM
nand.
You'll go down to the cities an
light, me boy. That's what I've train
ed you for an you'll do it."
"All right" was the unexpected re-
Sponse, rumbled alphabetically from the
leep chest.
"And fight like -" the old man
added.
Again Stubener felt disappointment
1T the absence of fash and fire in the
young mans eyes as he answered:
"All right. When do we start?"
"Oh, Sam, here, he'll be wantin' a
title huntin' and to fish a bit as we'll
IS to try you out with the gloves"
He looked at Sam. who nodded
Suppose you strip and give IN
taste Of your quality"
An hour later Sam Stubener had his
eyes opened. An ex-fghter himself,
heavyweight at that, he was even a
better judge of fighters, and never had
ne seen one strip to like advantage.
"See the softness Of him." old Pat
,hanted. "'Tis the true stuff. Look
At the slope of the shoulders an the
lungs of him. Clean, all clean, to the
asst drop an ounce of him You're
ookin' at man. Sam. the like of
which was never seen before. Not
muscle of him bound
''No weight litter or Sandow exercise
artist there. See the fat snakes of
o1uooloS a GRO vuIiy,' Soft ~ Io1uIiIyo
Wait till you see them fashin' like
strikin' rattler He's good for forty
rounds this blessed instant, or a hun
bred. Go to it! Timer!
They went to it, for three minute
rounds with minute rests. and Sam
Stubener was Immediately undeceived.
Here was no streak of fat, no apa-
thy, only lazy, good natured play of
gloves and tricks, with brusque stiff
ness and harsh sharpness in the con-
facts that he knew belonged only to
the trained and instructive fighting
man.
easy, now, easy" old Pat warned.
SANS not the man he used to be-"
This nettled Sam, as it was intend
| ed to do, and he played his most IA
nous trick and favorite punch-a feint
1 for a clinch and right rip to the
stomach. But, quickly as it was deliv-
cred young Pat saw it and, though it
landed, his body was going away.
The next time his body did not go
away. AS the rip started he moved
forward and twisted his left hip to
meet it. 1t was only a matter Of sew
eral inches, yet it blocked the blow.
And thereafter, try as he would,
Stubener's gloves got no farther than
that hip. {
Stubener had roughed it with big
men in his time, and, in exhibition
bouts, had creditably held his own.
But there was no holding his own
here.
Young Pat played with him, and in
the clinches made him feel as power.
less as a baby, landing on him seem