ckout. Frankie had only to
stay on his feet to be home safe. But when was Milt going to let him go?
Milt had turned in a masterpiece of defensive fighting. The left had
deadly accuracy and now the openings were truck-sized as Monroe had come
to ignore the light tattoo of the Champ's punches.

Milt withdrew the control in the middle of the seventh round. It hit
Frankie like a dash of cold water, the exultation of being on his own!
He looked over at Milt, perched rope-high in his control chair at
ringside. Milt was looking at him, his face tight and grim; almost
hostile.

Frankie circled warily, a touch of panic coming unbidden. What to do? He
hadn't known it would be quite like this. He tried to remember how it
was--how it felt to move in the various ways Milt always sent him. Funny
how you could forget such things. The left hook--that jab--how did they
go?

A pile driver came from somewhere and almost tore his head off his
shoulders ...

He was looking up at the ceiling. He rolled his eyes and saw Pop
Monroe's face--smiling a little, but also puzzled. Even with his brain
groggy, Frankie knew why. He'd stepped wide open in Nappy's looping
right and Pop couldn't figure Milt doing a thing like that.

Pop looked over at Milt. Frankie followed Pop's eyes and saw the look
Milt returned. Then the spark of understanding that passed between them.
Odd, Frankie thought. What understanding could there be?

He was aware of the word seven filling the studio as the loud speaker
blared the count. He was up at nine.

Nappy swarmed in now. Frankie felt the pain of hard, solid blows on his
body as he tried to tie up this dynamo Poppy Monroe was releasing on
him. He couldn't stop it, dodge it, or hide from it.

But he finally got away from it--staggering. Nappy came at him fast and
the left jab Frankie sent out to put him off balance didn't even slow
the fury a bit. Frankie took to the ropes to make Nappy shorten his
punches. It helped some, but not enough. No man could take the jolting
effect of those ripping punches and keep his feet under him. Frankie
didn't--he was down when the bell ended round nine.

* * * * *

In his corner the seconds worked quickly. He looked at Milt and saw a
dead-pan expression. Milt wasn't sending him anything. Punishing him of
course. Frankie took it meekly; ashamed of himself. Milt would take over
again when the bell sounded. Frankie knew that he couldn't stay away