"Here," he whispered, "take a swig o' this," and he pressed
a bottle toward Billy's lips.
Billy shook his head. The stuff had kept him down all his
life--he had sworn never to touch another drop of it, and he
never would, whether he lost this and every other fight he ever
fought. He had sworn to leave it alone for HER sake! And then
the gong called him to the center of the ring.
Billy knew that he was afraid--he thought that he was
afraid of the big, trained fighter who faced him; but Cassidy
knew that it was a plain case of stage fright that had gripped
his man. He knew, too, that it would be enough to defeat Billy's
every chance for victory, and after the big "white hope" had
felled Billy twice in the first minute of the first round Cassidy
knew that it was all over but the shouting.
The fans, many of them, were laughing, and yelling derogatory
remarks at Billy.
"Stan' up an' fight, yeh big stiff!" and "Back to de farm fer
youse!" and then, high above the others a shrill voice cried
"Coward! Coward!"
The word penetrated Billy's hopeless, muddled brain. Coward!
SHE had called him that once, and then she had changed
her mind. Theriere had thought him a coward, yet as he died
he had said that he was the bravest man he ever had known.
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