!"

"Nappy can stick his fist through a brick wall--all night long. And Pop
Monroe knows all there is to know and some he makes up himself. They'd
be a tough pair to beat. Our big ace is that they have to beat us. We
_got_ the Nine-Times."

"I can take him, Milt!"

There was a strange light in Milt's eyes. He did not speak and Frankie
went on. "Just one round, Milt! If I slip you can grab control again."

"You just want a try at it, huh?"

There seemed to be disappointment in Milt's voice; something Frankie
couldn't understand. Milt seemed suddenly nervous, ill-at-ease. But
Frankie was too eager to give it much attention. "How about it,
Milt--huh?"

Milt had been squatting on the sand. He got to his feet and looked out
across the water. "All right. Maybe we'll try it."

He seemed sad as he walked away. Frankie, occupied with his own elation,
didn't notice ...

* * * * *

In the studio dressing room, a few hours later Milt and Frankie were
warming up. Frankie in the practice ring and Milt perched on a high
chair just outside the ropes.

Everything was just as it would be in the fight. Three minutes work, one
minute rest. Frankie noticed how slowly and carefully Milt was working
him, and how he watched the clock.

Frankie had nothing to do now but watch, as a spectator would; watch as
Milt moved him around. Milt could control every muscle, every move and
every reflex of his body. It had taken them five years to perfect this
routine. That was the training period at the College of Boxing, and was
prescribed by law.

In their first fight they had been at their peak. Frankie was Milt's
second boy and Milt knew boxing as only a Champion Welter with thirty
years of experience could know it. For fifteen years he had watched and
studied while a good veteran had directed his body. And for another
fifteen years he had been the guiding brain to a fine Middleweight.

As a Welterweight, Milt had learned to depend on speed and quick hands.
In Frankie he had found the dream of every Welter--a punch. Frankie's
body could really deliver the power. At first, it had been the heavy
hitting that had won the fights; lately, Milt had relied more and more
on the speed and deception he had developed in Frankie.

* * * * *

Frankie felt the control ease out and knew the warm-up was over. He
slipped on his robe and he and Milt went to join the others in the TV
studio.