"You get too serious, that's the way you liable to wind up," said Harry Belok through his teeth. He turned and stomped toward the door and went out. The little man against the wall slid out after him. Charlie Jingle walked nonchalantly to the door, hooked his foot behind it, and kicked it shut with a loud slam. Mischa Hannigan took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his brow. "You've gone crazy, Charlie. You've gone stark ravin' mad!" Charlie Jingle whirled. "All these years, Mish, I starved and sweated in tank-joints. All these years I broke my back, and nobody lifted a finger except a choice one or two. Now I've got a crack at somethin' good and everybody wants in. Well I don't want them in! I want them to stay clear, and lemme go my own way! Is that crazy?" "But Charlie," moaned Mischa Hannigan. "You can't go laughin' at the Fixer like that! Don't you have enough worries without gettin' killed?" Charlie Jingle looked at him a blank moment and then laughed. He turned, looking toward the ring below. The Tanker was on the Gym floor, looking up. He waved. Charlie turned to Hannigan. "Can you get me the Jawbreaker to spar with Tanker, Mish?" Hannigan sank slowly into his leather chair behind the beat-up, rusting metal desk. He rubbed a patch of rust with his thumb. "Sure. Sure I can get the Jawbreaker. Can you get the match?" "You just watch my dust," said Charlie, and went out. Mischa Hannigan crinkled his nose. He began to feel his asthma coming on. * * * * * "Are you crazy, Jingle?" roared the apoplectic Commissioner Jergen. "I can't get myself wrapped up in ring politics! I'm a fight commissioner, not a goddam promoter!" Charlie took a few steps toward the Commissioner, leveling a finger at him in indictment. "Now you lemme tell you somethin'. You run the fight game, but the only thing you're interested in is your own goddam reputation. The only time you ever get up off your fat keister is when somebody publicly pulls a quick deal that looks phony. Then you roar up from the saddle and start screaming 'foul'--_only_ because it makes you look bad if you don't!" "I can have you cited for contempt--" "I don't give one damn in hell what you can have me cited for! I thought you were one square guy. But all you are is a bloody politician like all the others! You're here to make sure the fight racket gets a fair-deal. Well I'm getting the old freeze-away, and you still sit on your keister and don't do a damned thing!" "You damn midget!" croaked the Commissioner, and Charlie Jingle whirled, fists cocked, his face working up a nice purple color. "What'd you call me, Fatso?" "I called you a damn midget, and if you don't like it, I dare you take a poke at me!" said the Commissioner, and coming around his desk he thrust his jaw out toward Charlie Jingle's cocked fists. Jingle drew his fist back and stopped. Slowly he dropped the cocked hand by his side.