THE SPORTING DOCTOR
WHEN the lightweight champion of the world went to his corner after the eighth round, he was puffing badly, and his knees were shaking.
"What are you stalling for, Billy?" de manded "Tacks" McLowrie, the champion's manager, chief second, and adviser. "Why don't you tear into this stiff and show him how to take a joke?"
"I I ain't stalling," panted the champion. "This is a tough fellow strong as a bull can't seem to get started, somehow."
"You copped him nice with that right swing," said McLowrie, realizing that encouragement was needed. "It set him back on his heels."
"Yes, and he laughed at me didn't hurt him a bit just as strong in the clinches as ever I'll get him when I get started."
"Aw, there's lots of time," said McLowrie soothingly. "Make him lead more, Billy. Pull him out of position, and cross him with the right. Hands hurting you any?"
The champion nodded. In spite of the soft
bandages, the old dislocations were bothering
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