"The Champ call?" he asked, voice trembling. Charlie shook his head in the negative. "Why don't you sucker him, Charlie? Force his hand!" "You want a bout with the Champ?" "Sure! Don't you?" Charlie sat down on the work-bench and pulled the Tanker down next to him. "Listen, Tank. Last night was a freak, you understand? Something happened last night, I don't know what. But you ain't the boy to fight the Champ--My God, boy, you're older than me!" Tanker Bell looked at Charlie, his face puckering like a child's. "No, now wait. Lemme make it clear, Tank," said Charlie Jingle softly. "You'n me been together fourteen years. We've fought in some pretty ancient Tank-towns. We've fought young and old alike, and you know as well as me that it was always an even toss whether or not you would get knocked cold. We're mediocrities, Kid. When I bought you, you'd already seen your best days. Am I right?" Tanker Bell nodded, his head down on his chest. "Look, Tanker, I ain't tryin' to hurt you. I just don't wanna see you get killed!" "Well who said anything about gettin' killed, for God's sake!" bawled the Tanker. "Look at it this way. You've been knocked to pieces a dozen times, and I've gone to work and put you back together a dozen times. I've twisted your wires, re-shaped your reflex plan, doubled your flexibility and your punch-power, co-ordinated and re-co-ordinated you and re-analyzed your nervous-pattern until I've exhausted every possible combination. You're a fighting machine, and a good one, kid. But machines grow old. They get outdated, like me. I'm a Mechanical Engineer. Okay! There's lots of new stuff I don't know that these college kids know. What happens to them? They go to work for Pugilists Inc., inventing new machines with new systems. They got systems that I never dreamed of. Do you know that?" "Well what's that got to do with me fightin' the Champ, for God's sake?" "Everything! They put machines in the ring now that are worth Five Hundred Thousand dollars! They're almost indestructible!" "How come that punk I fought last night wasn't so indestructible, then? How come about that, Charlie?" "I dunno, I dunno. Somethin' musta gone wrong. Maybe he shorted out." "Or _maybe_ for once you hit the _right_ combination, how about that, Charlie? Maybe I'm real ripe, now, after all these years of tankin' around!" "But Tanker! Use your head! The Champ's brand new, spankin' young. He's the newest-styled fighting machine in existence. What chance you think we stand against that?" "Listen. I fought that bum last night with ease, you know that? There I was, just glidin' around him, punchin' him at will--" "Maybe it was an accident! Maybe somethin' went wrong with his system last night...." "And maybe I dropped him on the square, too...."