ONE-THIRTY-THREE RINGSIDE
CHARLES FRANCIS HEALY, known to all the world as "Young Sullivan," sat on the edge of his bed and stared incredulously at Billy Avery, his manager, press agent, and bosom friend.
"Naw," said Healy, shaking his head, "you don't mean that, Billy. You're only kidding."
"It ain't what I mean, Charles," said Avery, discouragement showing in the dispirited droop of his shoulders and the flat tones of his voice. "It's what Badger means that cuts the ice. I talked to him for four hours — the obstinate mule! — and that's the very best we get — one thirty-three at the ringside."
"But, man alive," wailed the little fighter, "that's murder in the first degree! He'd be getting me in the ring so weak that a feather weight could lick me!"
"Yes," said Avery, "and he knows that as well as you do. That's what he's playing for — a cinch."
"The public won't stand for it!" stormed Healy.
"The public be damned!" said Billy Avery,
[62]
