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In thirty seconds it was unquestionably apparent to every one in the room,
including Young Brophy himself, that the latter was pitifully outclassed. Jimmy
hit him whenever and wherever he elected to hit, and he hit him hard, while
Brophy, at best only a second or third rate fighter, pussy and undertrained, was
not only unable to elude the blows of his adversary but equally so to land
effectively himself.
And there before the eyes of half a dozen newspaper reporters, of a dozen wealthy
young men who had fully intended to place large sums on Brophy, and before the
eyes of his horrified manager and backer, Jimmy, at the end of ninety seconds,
landed a punch that sent the flabby Mr. Brophy through the ropes and into
dreamland for a much longer period than the requisite ten seconds.
Before Jimmy got dressed and out of the gymnasium he, with difficulty, escaped a
half-dozen more fistic encounters, as everybody from the manager down felt that
his crime deserved nothing short of capital punishment. He had absolutely
wrecked a perfectly good scheme in the perfection of which several thousand
dollars had been spent, and now there could not be even the possibility of a
chance of their breaking even.
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