Carolina watchman. [volume] (Salisbury, N.C.) 1871-1937, 1932-08-05
SIXTH

the lighters saw Sol Bernfeld slowly
u out three five dollar bills and
offer them to John. They were stand
ing in a corner partly shielded by a
locker.
whats that?" Malone demanded
sharply, approaching the boy and his
manager.
"What l won. l get fifteen and Sol
gets ten; he's my manager" John ex-
planned.
"Say-you dirty crook!''- The
trainer glared at Sol. blanched to a
deathly pallor at the discovery of his
duplicity. "You give that boy his
money" Malone. with a sudden
grip, pulled the retreating Bernfeld
backward. dig, damn you-dig!!'
and he drove his elbow sharply into
the middle of SOILS soft back. Bern
field. wincing with pain. hesitated.
John eyed him with ;hspicion. dig
you rotten crook and Pug Malone
gave him a second and much harder
hook in the back as a crisp fifty dol
lar bill came @ light. Malone snat-
ched this and handed it to John
Take that, son, you earned it. An
you," turning to Sol, ''fade, an fade
fast, before you get what's comm to
YOU" Bernfeld took the hint without
delay.
whats your name, SOM" Malone
asked. "You look white"
"Breen' sir, John Breen,'' the "s:r"
slipping from some dormant cell, re-
corded, perhaps, while %overhearing
Captain Breen address some wharf Or
ship officer. Pug Malone, compact,
gray haired, and pink, looked like a
god to the boy.
'sWhere do you work." Malone
knew that John was not a profession
al.
with Mr.. Lipwitch in the Cloth
ing Emporium. u.
"Pay?" demanded Malone.
eyes, sir, he pays me-" John felt
hi, benefactor was under criticism.
"Of course he does, son. How
much? What do you get a week.
Three dollars-and board" cJohn
added by way Of good measure.
Board! Board" Malone ran his
hand over the body of the boy.
"Board-rats!" And then, seeing the
alarmed look on Johns face, he Went
On in a kindly tone. 'What you
need is feedin'. Better stay here.
I'll give you a job, five a week an
real board. Rubin, that's the work
an I'll train you, SON, an split right.
Are you my boy?'
And SO John Breen left the Ghetto
to enter the Bowery of the Greater
City of New York.
A year passed over the head of
John Breen, a year of ampler freedom
and of phyiical development, a year
charged with the elements of crime,
of drunkenness and brawling. John
saw, without knowing, the dregs of
the city. Blear-eyed victims of the
sodden slums of Chinatown drifted
into the bar at McManus' for a bowl
of beer and a snatch of lunch then to
sink back again to the d~rug-soaked
atmosphere below. He saw these TIL
ings through the swinging doors be-
tween the gym, at n end of the
dance hall, and the private p%arlors
and the bar. 1t was merely another
picture Of the overpowering city, SO
tremendous in its contrasts.
Pug Malone, expire fighter,
trainer for the Samson Sporting Club
a hard, honest, medium-sized, middle
aged man, shorn of his illusion,
watched over John Breen. John rose
At six, with Malone jumping up III
the brisk air when he skipped rope
swung the clubs and shadow boxed
under the eye Of the trainer who sat
on the edge of his o smoking his
morning pipe. After a half hour of
THU John turned out the blankets to
air, and master and pupil met a
string of boys at the rear door of the
club and ran hard for another halt
hour before the awakening of the city
traffic, coming back to the club for
a cold shower and a rub down.
Malone and John then breakfasted
alone, in a card room back of the
bar, on large bowls of oatmeal, bacon
and eggs, rolls and coffee. The day
was spent in taking care of a string
of fighters, boxing, Rigging and pun
ching the bag, or working at the chest
machines. Regular meals clean air,
and early to bed filled out his frame
with an Astounding health that glow
ed and PARKED through his clear
skin in startling contrast to the sod
den wrecks of men and women Drift
ing all about.
After two months of training for