BATTLING PERCY

(England)

v

CYCLONE JIM

(America)

FULL DESCRIPTION BY OUR EXPERT

Jimmy sat up.

“Bayliss, you’re indulging that distorted sense of humour of yours again.  That isn’t in the paper?”

“Yes, sir.  Very large headlines.”

Jimmy groaned.

“Bayliss, I’ll give you a piece of advice which may be useful to you when you grow up.  Never go about with newspaper men.  It all comes back to me.  Out of pure kindness of heart I took young Bill Blake of the Sun to supper at the Six Hundred last night.  This is my reward.  I suppose he thinks it funny.  Newspaper men are a low lot, Bayliss.”

“Shall I go on, sir?”

“Most doubtless.  Let me hear all.”

Bayliss resumed.  He was one of those readers who, whether their subject be a murder case or a funny anecdote, adopt a measured and sepulchral delivery which gives a suggestion of tragedy and horror to whatever they read.  At the church which he attended on Sundays, of which he was one of the most influential and respected members, children would turn pale and snuggle up to their mothers when Bayliss read the lessons.  Young Mr. Blake’s account of the overnight proceedings at the Six Hundred Club he rendered with a gloomy gusto more marked even than his wont.  It had a topical interest for him which urged him to extend himself.

“At an early hour this morning, when our myriad readers were enjoying that refreshing and brain-restoring sleep so necessary to the proper appreciation of the Daily Sun at the breakfast table, one of the most interesting sporting events of the season was being pulled off at the Six Hundred Club in Regent Street, where, after three rounds of fast exchanges, James B. Crocker, the well-known American welter-weight scrapper, succeeded in stopping Lord Percy Whipple, second son of the Duke of Devizes, better known as the Pride of Old England.  Once again the superiority of the American over the English style of boxing was demonstrated.  Battling Percy has a kind heart, but Cyclone Jim packs the punch.”

“The immediate cause of the encounter had to do with a disputed table, which each gladiator claimed to have engaged in advance over the telephone.”

“I begin to remember,” said Jimmy meditatively.  “A pill with butter-coloured hair tried to jump my claim.  Honeyed words proving fruitless, I soaked him on the jaw.  It may be that I was not wholly myself.  I seem to remember an animated session at the Empire earlier in the evening, which may have impaired my self-control.  Proceed!”

“One word leading to others, which in their turn led to several more, Cyclone Jim struck Battling Percy on what our rude forefathers were accustomed to describe as the mazzard, and the gong sounded for

“ROUND ONE