Carpentier’s success was by no means uniform. He got some severe thrashings both from English boxers and Frenchmen--generally owing to the fact that he gave away weight and especially years at an age when youth is on the windward side of achievement. It is a wonder that the boy was not discouraged, but his pluck was unconquerable, and Descamps a sympathetic and astute manager. Again and again when it became apparent in a contest that nothing could save Carpentier from a knock-out, Descamps would give in for him, directing one of the seconds to throw a towel into the ring. His avoidance of the actual fact of a knock-out no doubt saved the boy much discouragement, and it looked better, and still looks better, in a formal printed record of what he has done. Of course, Descamps was not always able to gauge the right moment for surrender, and it happened at least once in those early days that Carpentier was knocked out just like any other boxer with no fairy godfather to supervise his defeats. In 1912 he had a very hard fight with Frank Klaus the American, who at that time claimed the World’s Middle-weight Championship. This encounter took place at Dieppe, and the American was nearly beaten early in the fight, falling from a terrific blow on the jaw. But he recovered, and his much longer experience came to his aid. In the end he gave Carpentier a severe drubbing for several rounds until, to save him, Descamps entered the ring: whereupon the referee gave Klaus the verdict. But throughout this contest the Frenchman was working hard, fighting all the time, never discouraged by punishment, showing what he had always shown, a perfectly unalterable, irreducible courage. The same sort of thing happened in his fight with another American, Papke. This time Carpentier had to reduce his weight, which is the worst possible thing a boy, still growing and with no superfluous flesh, can do. He began the fight weak, was severely hammered and finally had an eye closed. Again Descamps intervened, this time in the eighteenth round, to save him the technical knock-out. Regarded dispassionately, this sort of thing is excellent “business,” and does not, as far as one can see, do much harm to sport. If Tommy Burns was the first man who made boxing a matter of sound commerce, one may call Carpentier, or more strictly his manager and mentor, Descamps, the first Boxing Business Magnate. Between them they had made a literally large fortune before Carpentier was twenty. One of his hardest, longest, and best fights was with Jeff Smith, a hardy American who was a shade lighter, shorter, and with less reach than Carpentier. This combat took place at the end of 1913, not a month after the Frenchman had beaten Wells, for the second time, at the National Sporting Club.