The ability to take a unmerciful beatin' has made many a box fighter famous which had absolutely nothin' else to recommend him. Ring records all the ways down from the time Battlin' David knocked One Round Goliath for a goal is studded with the names of these gluttons for punishment whose motto is a steal from the Salvation Army's "A man may be down, but he's never out!" Their favorite punch is delivered with some part of their battered face to the point of the other guy's glove, and they seldom if ever miss. They may never become champs; in fact, the plurality of these babies is usually about tenth-raters, but they'll always be in demand at fancy prices because the difference between the modern prize-fight fan and the cuckoos which used to sit around Nero and holler for the gladiators to quit stallin' and knife each other has stopped at the matter of dress. The average follower of the manly art insists that his favorites be guys of red blood—in fact, he carries his enthusiasm to the point where he wants to see 'em covered with it!
Few of these here "iron men"—even the handful which has slugged their way to the top of the heap—knows any more about scientific boxin' than a hen
