I despair to give an impression of Willard when he came up for the third round—his last. He was almost blind and despite the ministrations of his handlers, who worked furiously to aid him, his face was one mash from forehead to chin. He hadn’t a chance in the world and as I looked at him with a feeling of pity, I blamed his seconds for not tossing in the sponge. Blind fighting instinct alone dictated Willard’s move forward as Dempsey leaped toward him when the third round got under way. This time Jess shot up his right to protect himself, and it caught Dempsey under the chin and jarred him. It sent his head back with a jerk—the only effective punch the champion had landed in the fight. There was a roar for the underdog. Everybody jumped up. The excitement made me catch my breath. But Dempsey recovered quickly, spurred to a fighting fury by the uppercut that almost downed him. The black scowl had been replaced by a terrible tigerish smile. He started pounding away at Jess’s body and jaw and when the round ended, both the challenger and the champion were exhausted. No words can depict Willard’s pitiful plight. He was half-dragged, half carried to his corner, where he was planted on his stool in a state of collapse. Ike O’Neil, his chief second, tried to revive him, but his beaten body could not respond. Realizing his condition, Jess told referee Pecord he could not continue. Thus one of the greatest heavyweight championship bouts I have ever seen came to an end, and the bloodstained right-hand glove that hangs on the wall of my office recalls every thrilling detail of it. This was Jack Dempsey’s high spot. I think it was also Jess Willard’s. To him goes an honor hardly less than that of his conqueror, despite the battering he took. * * * * * Were Dempsey’s gloves loaded? That question has been discussed time and again in magazine and newspaper articles by persons incapable of giving a proper answer except through hearsay or from comments made by persons supposedly “in the know.” I watched the crumbling of the Pottowatomie Giant and after the terrific shellacking that Willard took, I heard many remarks that no human could deal out so much punishment with padded mitts unless there was something hidden in his gloves. Even to this day, one reads about “loaded gloves,” and how plaster of Paris on Dempsey’s bandages cut Jess’ face to ribbons. I was at the fight. I watched Dempsey in training. I saw Jimmy Deforest, his trainer, tape Jack’s hands. I watched every move of the men in Jack’s quarters. I think I can clear the atmosphere once and for all time with an accurate version of what happened.