Adams, Nick (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American
Jack stands up and the sweat comes out all over his face. I put the
bathrobe around him and he holds himself in with one hand under the
bathrobe and goes across the ring. They’ve picked Walcott up and they’re
working on him. There’re a lot of people in Walcott’s corner. Nobody
speaks to Jack. He leans over Walcott.
“I’m sorry,” Jack says. “I didn’t mean to foul you.”
Walcott doesn’t say anything. He looks too damned sick.
“Well, you’re the champion now,” Jack says to him. “I hope you get a
hell of a lot of fun out of it.”
“Leave the kid alone,” Solly Freedman says.
“Hello, Solly,” Jack says. “I’m sorry I fouled your boy.”
Freedman just looks at him.
Jack went to his corner walking that funny jerky way and we got him down
through the ropes and through the reporters’ tables and out down the
aisle. A lot of people want to slap Jack on the back. He goes out
through all that mob in his bathrobe to the dressing-room. It’s a
popular win for Walcott. That’s the way the money was bet in the Garden.
Once we got inside the dressing-room Jack lay down and shut his eyes.
“We want to get to the hotel and get a doctor,” John says.
“I’m all busted inside,” Jack says.
“I’m sorry as hell, Jack,” John says.
“It’s all right,” Jack says.
He lies there with his eyes shut.
“They certainly tried a nice double-cross,” John said.
“Your friends Morgan and Steinfelt,” Jack said. “You got nice friends.”
He lies there, his eyes are open now. His face has still got that awful
drawn look.
“It’s funny how fast you can think when it means that much money,” Jack
says.
“You’re some boy, Jack,” John says.
“No,” Jack says. “It was nothing.”
A SIMPLE ENQUIRY
OUTSIDE, the snow was higher than the window. The sunlight came in
through the window and shone on a map on the pine-board wall of the hut.
The sun was high and the light came in over the top of the snow. A
trench had been cut along the open side of the hut, and each clear day
the sun, shining on the wall, reflected heat against the snow and
widened the trench. It was late March. The major sat at a table against
the wall. His adjutant sat at another table.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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