The Bruiser by Jim Tully Page A

knows,” returned Miller, “He’s faded out somewhere.”
    Shane remained silent.
    Buck Logan called to an assistant at the next desk. “Get Joe Watkins—we want a picture of this Damon and Pythias—for my collection—not for the paper—it might look bad.”
    Joe Mankerlitz came on from Phoenix as the manager of Barney McCoy.
    â€œGive us a break for old times’ sake, Shane—let Barney get a draw with you. It’ll be all right with Buck when he gets back—there’s room for us all—you can make it a fast go—just don’t knock him out. You’ve beat him once—we both know you can do it again.”
    He had a more important match in Sioux City.
    â€œYou’re on your way up,” Buck Logan had said before leaving for New York to report a fight between Jerry Wayne and Bud Fealy.
    It might have been different had a telegram not reached him from Jack Gill. Buck Logan died of heart failure on the train.
    Since boyhood, death had not touched Shane. He was fond of Logan. For hours the sports’ editor would sit at a corner table in “The Rendezvous” and tell him tales of the ring.
    Shane’s cockiness in the ring, his bashfulness outside, had appealed to Logan. He became his constant companion.
    The table was often surrounded by newspapermen. He would listen to their talk with deep attention.
    Logan’s assistant was Ted Braly.
    â€œI’ve got an idea, Ted. I wanta do something for Buck. Suppose we start a collection. I’ll lead it off with a coupla hundred—he’s got an aunt—she might need something.”
    â€œNo, Shane—Buck’s okeh—he had some money—the only thing you can do for him is carry him in your heart.”
    He was still depressed when Mankerlitz came to his hotel.
    â€œBuck’ll understand wherever he is,” said Mankerlitz.
    Shane consented to let McCoy stay the limit.
    He realized too late that he was double-crossed. He lost the decision to McCoy—who replaced him on the card in Sioux City.
    He remembered Logan’s words about Mankerlitz—“shady as a woods.”
    He pleaded for a return match.
    â€œI’d like to give it to you, Shane—but you know how it is—you can’t blame Barney and me for makin’ the most of things. Another win now over you wouldn’t help us none—we’re movin’ out of here for a while.”
    The full force of his predicament came to Shane.
    â€œSo that’s it, huh.”
    â€œSure, Shane—that’s it—you oughta knowed better.” Joe Mankerlitz was not unkind. He laughed quietly.
    The memory of Buck Logan and his own chagrin made him leave Omaha. The double-cross embittered him for weeks. He never again took the word of another in the ring.

IV
    For several months Shane was too indifferent to seek matches. He had two thousand dollars, a large diamond ring, a half dozen silk robes, many suits of clothes, three trunks, and two watches.
    As a road kid he had seen railroad employees look at watches of an expensive make. He paid a hundred dollars for one. “It’s a twenty-five year gold case and twenty-one jewels,” the salesman said.
    â€œI know,” returned Shane, putting the money on the glass case.
    All found their way to pawn shops. He had paid five hundred for the ring. “A diamond’s as good as money any day,” the jeweler explained when he bought the bauble.
    He pawned it for sixty dollars. “No more of these damn things for me,” he said to the pawnbroker.
    â€œSixty dollars is better than no money,” the dealer in lost vanity said.
    â€œBut it’s not as good as five hundred,” Shane pocketed the money.
    â€œLook at the fun you had wearin’ it.” The pawnbroker looked at the stone.
    He reached Cheyenne a year later where Jackie Connors, a one time bantamweight, was promoting fights.
    â€œI’d like to