one man a few minutes with a pair of eight-ounce gloves and that the average doughboy got thirty-three dollars a month for fighting a couple of million men for a year with a bayonet, it is not hard to sympathize with those indignant ex-members of the A. E. F.—thousands of whom are jobless and recovering from grievous wounds.
The impression of one who by some years of actual experience has accumulated a little first-hand knowledge of the sordid atmosphere surrounding modern professional pugilism (not amateur boxing)—an admirable exercise and a vastly different sport—is that it is a great thing to keep away from. It is no more conducted with the idea of improving the breed of the genus homo than present-day horse racing is devoted to the improvement of the breed of the horse. To the young, clean, husky youth who is regarding a career in the prize ring with a contemplative eye, I would suggest a ringside seat, not at a championship battle, but at some of the bouts between second- and third-raters, where he would naturally begin his own apprenticeship. Let him observe the contestants and their "handlers," listen to the supervile admonitions or expletives hurled at a battered loser by the crowd, absorb some of the general atmosphere—and then make his choice.
