It seemed an absurd match. If an animal analogy may be allowed, it was like a young leopard against a gorilla. There are, of course, innumerable accidents in boxing, chance blows and slight injuries which turn the tide of battle, an “off” day, a fault in training; but it may be laid down as a general rule that when character and strength are equal the man with the more skill wins, when skill and strength are equal, character wins, when character and skill are equal, strength wins. So it was now. Both Carpentier and Dempsey were natural fighters, both were scientific boxers, though Carpentier was more skilled than his opponent, both wanted to win, but Dempsey was immensely stronger than the Frenchman. The contest took place at New Jersey, U.S.A., on July 2, 1921. A very small ring was used, no more than eighteen feet square. The number of rounds was limited to twelve, but it was recognised beyond the possibility of doubt that so many as twelve would not be required to settle the matter. The moving pictures of the event show Carpentier sitting in his corner, nodding and smiling while his gloves are being put on. His grin is wide. Then with the suddenness of the camera’s own shutter, it ceases. For an instant the whole face is still, the mouth closes in thin-lipped anxiety, the eyes are set, and when you see the smile break out again you know that it is deliberate, not spontaneous. In fact Georges Carpentier was acutely nervous. Who, of his size and in his shoes, would not have been? You have but to glance at the man in the opposite corner, and you shake at the very thought of being in Carpentier’s shoes at that moment. Thirteen and a half stone may mean very little; it may mean a hulking fellow who can’t hit, let alone take punishment: it may mean a hulking fellow who can hit hard, but who can do nothing else. But the thirteen and a half stone of Dempsey meant a man in perfect condition, who could hit as few men can, who was extraordinarily hard and strong and almost impossible to hurt. Thirteen and a half stone of bone and muscle, not bone and muscle and fat. No fat at all. All hard stuff; not easy rippling muscle like Carpentier’s, but very solid and tough and extremely serviceable. Dempsey had left himself unshaven for several days, so that the skin of his face should not be tender, thereby gaining, besides, a horribly malign appearance. And he scowled, and when the two of them stood up he made Carpentier look a little man. Dempsey was not popular in America owing to his avoidance of military service during the war. Seeing him in the ring, unless the photographic films have lied, he looked the very incarnation of sullen rage and brute force. In private life he is an amiable man, fresh-faced and modest. He had much more than brute force: he was a skilled and terrific basher. Strength for strength, Dempsey could, as you might say, “eat” Carpentier.