st that Jack Ballard and I stayed away from him, and so
the day passed slowly enough in speculations as to the possibility of
overtraining and as to Jerry's ability to stand punishment. Of his
pluck there was no question between us. Both of us had had too many
proofs of it to doubt, but there was always the chance of the unlucky
blow early in the battle which might mean defeat where victory seemed
the only thing possible. I believed that Jerry would win. I think that
I actually believed him to be invulnerable. I knew that Flynn was
confident, and that Sagorski, Spatola and O'Halloran had put their
money on him. Of course he would win. There was no man in the world
who could stand up against Jerry when he meant to do a thing. No one
knew better than I what victory meant to Jerry. Money, championship
laurels--of course they were nothing. However much or little Marcia's
theories as to the superman meant to Jerry, he was committed to
her--and she, I suspected, to him. His laurels were in the touch of
her rosy fingers, the flash of her dark eyes, the gleam of her small
white teeth when she smiled. Those were his reward, all that he had
worked for--all that he prized. She expected him to win. He couldn't
lose.

The day passed slowly. I visited the gymnasium with Jack. Flynn was
still with Jerry, but confidence reigned. There was a story going the
rounds of the press that Clancy had gone stale, that he had strained a
tendon, that he had broken a finger, that his mother had just died.

"Buncombe!" said Jack, who knew the game. "They want to worry the odds
down a bit. He's fit as a fiddle. You can be sure of that."

The early afternoon papers contained the first hint that Jim Robinson
was not what he was supposed to be. A heading on the sporting page
caught my eyes. I have kept it among my papers and give it verbatim.

PUGILIST SOCIETY MAN
JIM ROBINSON, THE HEAVY WEIGHT, A
MASQUERADER.

I read the type below hurriedly:

A story is going the rounds that Jim Robinson, the heavyweight, who
goes against Sailor Clancy in the principal event at the Garden
tonight, is not Robinson at all, but a well-known society man and
millionaire. From the hour when this match was made in May last there
has been a mystery attached to the personality of this fighter never
before heard of in Fistiana in New York. Flynn, his backer and
trainer, could not be found to deny or affirm the rumor, and his
sparring partners at Flynn's Gymn