Evening star., 1921-07-03

had telescoped him. He folds up
into 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 l 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 he
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 flattened 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
come. He scarcely shifts his posi-
ton while the count goes on. 1 have
never seen a prize fighter in the mo-
n, ent of triumph Behave 50. But MS
expression proves that he Is merely
waiting. His lips lift In snarl until
a token of contempt for the hostile
ma jority 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-
sew is a dun background of gray
clouds swollen and gross with un-
split rain. The snowy white horison-
tails Of the padded guard ropes cut
across him at knee and hip and
shoulder line; otherwise his figure
stands out clear, a 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. see only that
gnarled form lolling against the
ropes and eight feet away tn the slshto Sasten
friedman, with its kicking legs and
its sobbing mouth from which lit
tie stream of blood runs down upon
the lolled chin. In hush which IN
spontaneously deseeGas, eeaas ahe ahe Seferee as
swings his arm down like a sema-
phore and chants out ten"
The rest is a muddle and mess OF
confusion-Dempsey STOPPING over
Carpenter as though wishful to lift
circled by a 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 stool:
Carpenters long, slim legs dangling
~ him nd hiS foot Slifhnr-
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 n 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
1aT as i peEbOHdly dIH COHCcTneQ.
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 foe against whom
he had no shadow Of hope.
The third-and the most outstand-
ing-will be my recollection Of that
look in Dempsey's lowering front
when realisation came to him that a
majority Of that tremendous audi
ence were partisans Of the foreigner.
Copyright. 1921, BY the Central Press Asso-
tion.