Well, as I had gone through with almost all my money in the past week, I thought I might as well spend the balance, so I planked down a dollar and gained a general admission to the Dreamland where the fights were to be pulled off that night. There were six round contests on the programme and the big fight between Jimmie Boyles and whoever wished to try him out would be the last one fought. In 'Frisco at that time they only allowed them to go six rounds, and that night there were some hot six rounders in the Dreamland. It was the first time I had ever witnessed any of the fights in the West, and I enjoyed seeing them pound each other, emphasis on the "pound each other." When the first six fights had been completed the ring manager stood on the platform and announced through a big megaphone that any one who would come up and fight Jimmie Boyles, the amateur champion of the Pacific coast, and stay in the ring with him the six rounds, that a purse of one hundred dollars would be awarded. Jimmie stood proudly leaning against the ropes, at the same time bowing to his admirers, as the yeller made the announcement from all sides of the platform. Several volunteered, but were ruled out on account of being classed as professionals. For a while it looked as though they were not going to be able to get Jimmie a fighting companion. As I stood there, I thought, "Well, I am a darn long way from home and this chance looks good to me, although I'm not much of a bruiser." Suddenly I raised my hand above my head and yelled to the man on the platform that I would fight his Jimmie Boyles. Those standing close to me turned and looked, while the eyes of the whole audience fell my way. I pushed through the excited mob of spectators and ascended to the platform, where I introduced myself, "Jack Condon from Richmond, Va." I was not long in establishing my amateurship, and after being introduced to the huge assemblage, I repaired to the dressing room. I was then weighing one hundred and seventy pounds stripped, and when I walked out on that platform in regular fighting costume I felt like a turkey nearing the axe. I appeared wrapped in a brown blanket and took my seat in one corner, while Jimmie sat opposite me. A trainer sat on either side, one rubbing my arms with alcohol, while the other was saying, "Now, kid, don't git skeered, but hit the devil hard. You're goin' to win, for I feel it in the dust. Ah, git out, what are all these pretty muscles for if you can't lick that Jimmie over there with only one hundred and thirty-five to hit yer with?"