sucker. Were it not a violation of the law of the land and the
canons of the Baptist church to wager money that we should give
to the missionaries, I'd risk six-bits that Corbett and
Fitzsimmons get together within a year and that the gamblers who
are on the inside "make a killing." For six months or more before
their last mill these two worthies chewed the rag, making
everybody believe that the battle was to be for berlud. The odds
were on Corbett, and he got lost in the shuffle as a matter of
course--just as Fitz did when he mixed it with Sharkey. Now the
rag-chewing has begun over again, and Bob is doing the lordly
contempt act just as Jeems did before the late unpleasantness. He
has "retired"--wants Corbett to "go get er repertashun"--says
"Corbett quit in the last go like er cowardly cur." It will take
time to work the thing up, to resuscitate the old excitement, to
set fools to betting wildly on their favorite; but when the
pippin's ripe it will be pulled. There's not the slightest reason
for the existence of any personal ill will between these
pugs--it's all in the play, and being bad actors they overdo the
part of Termagant, do protest too much. It is quite noticeable
that in the "big fights" nowadays nobody gets seriously bruised.
It's easy enough to start the claret, and an ounce o' blood well
smeared satisfies the crowd as well as a barrel. The result of
the "fight" will be determined beforehand--as soon as the
managers learn how they can scoop the most money. The best thing
you can do with your ducats is to send them to me with
instructions to bet them even that Bill McKinley's job will soon
fit Bryan. The man who bets on the result of a prize-fight ought
to have a guardian appointed.

. . .