Evening star., 1921-07-03

had telescoped him. He folds up
into a pitiably meager compass and
goes down heavily and again lies on
the floor, upon his right side. his face
half covered by his arms as though even
In the stupor following that deadly col
lision between his face and Dempsey's
fist he would protect his vulnerable
parts.
From where I sit writing this I
can see one of his eyes and his
mouth. The eye is blinking weakly.
the mouth is gaping. and the lips
work as though he chewed a most
bitter mouthful. I do not think ne
is entirely unconscious; he is only
like the legs of a cramped swimmer.
Once he lifts himself half way to his
launches. But the effort Is his last.
He has f1attened down again and still
the referee has only progressed in his
fateful sum Of simple addition as
My gaze shifts to Dempsey. He
has moved over into Carpenters cor
rer and stands there. his arms eX-
tended on the ropes in posture OF
resting. He has no doubt OF the out
come He scarcely shifts his posi-
ton while the count goes on. I have
never seen a prize fighter in the mo-
nent of triumph behave SO. But his
expression proves that he is merely
waiting. His lips lift in snarl until
all his teeth show. Whether this be
a token of contempt for the hostile
majority in the crowd, or merely his
way of expressing to himself his sat
isfaction, is not for me to say.
Dead Silence for Count.
The picture fingers in my mind after
the act itself is ended. Behind Demp-
sey is a dun background OF gray
clouds swollen and gross with un-
split rain. The snowy white horizon
tails Of the padded guard ropes cut
across him at knee and hip and
shoulder line; otherwise his figure
stands out clear, knobby figure with
tons Of unexpended energy still held
in reserve within it. The referee Is
close at hand tolling off the inexorable
tally of the. count-"seven. eight,
nine,"-but scarcely is one cognizant
of the referees presence or OF his
arithmetic either; o,,ins see a.ainst oH1s 'f the
ropes and. eight feet away. the slight
er crumpled shape of the beaten
Freedman. with its kicking legs and
its sobbing mouth from which lit
tie stream of blood runs down upon
spontaneously descends. and as In
simultaneously is ended, the referee
swings his arm down like sema-
phore and chants out ten"
The rest is muddie ana mess OF
Carpenter as though wishful to lift
him to his feet; then Dempsey en-
circled by dozen policemen. who. for
some reason, feel called upon to sur
round him; two weeping French help
ers dragging Carpenter to his cor
ner and propping him upon a stool:
Carpenters long, slim legs dangling
as they lift him and his feet slitAer-
ing In futile fashion upon the resined
canvas: Dempsey swinging his arms
aloft in tardy token of appreciation
for the whoops and cheers which f1owr
toward him; all sorts of folks crowd
ing into the ring; Dempsey marching
out. conveyed by an encourage of his
admirers; Carpenter. deadly pale, and
most bewildered looking with for
lorn, mechanical smile plastered on
his face. shaking hands with some
body or other, and then the ring Is
empty of all save Humphreys the
orator, who announces a concluding
bout between Billy Miske and Jack
Renault.
Never Had q Chance.
As settle back now to watch with
languid interest this anti-climax three
things stand out in my memory as
the high points Of the big fight, 20
far as I personally am concerned
The first is that Carpenter never,
had a chance. In the one round which
properly belonged to him he fought
himself out. He trusted to his
strength when his refuge should have
been in his speed.
The second is that vision of him.
doubled up on his side, like a fright
ened, hurt boy. and yet striving to
heave himself up and take added
punishment from a foe against whom
he had no shadow of hope.
The third-and the most outstand-
ing-will be my recollection Of that
look in Dempseys lowering front
when realization came to him that
majority Of that tremendous audi
ence were partisans of the foreigner.
Copyright. 1921, BY the Central Press Asso-
tion.