He was no different than a hundred others which has as much chance to be champion as I got to be president, yet can go in there and give a good account of themselves, clickin' off a occasional knockout, till years of repeated batterin' sends 'em to the ash can—generally cuckoo from the punchin' about the head.
Well, a guy of Frankie's type, stolid and colorless, seldom gets mad in the ring or out of it. Fightin' to him is a business and he goes about it with no more heat than a carpenter measures off a plank of wood. After twenty rounds, maybe, of gorey fightin' durin' which both him and his opponent has been many times on the verge of a knockout, he'd just as soon sit down to dinner with the other jobbie after the brawl. What I mean is that it takes a lot to stir them babies up—but then to Frankie Nolan, Beth Mack was a lot!
The first tip-off I got that Beth had built up Frankie to go after Kid Roberts was when he changed practically overnight from a good-natured, willin' boy to a surly, mumblin', scowlin' gorilla. Then he commenced gettin' off to one side of the gym and shadow boxin', skippin' rope, roughin' around the heavy sand bag and workin' the pulley weights. You'd think this guy was trainin' for a scrap instead of Kid Roberts and everybody around the place got hep and made some crack about it. When Frankie went into the trainin' ring with the Kid he was no longer just a choppin' block. He sparred carefully, that is carefully for a big chump like he was, and when he let one go he put all he had on it. He'd start sudden flurries and rush the surprised Kid Roberts all over the ring, swingin' viciously
