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46  ABBOTT'S MONTHLY

brazenly. She was nineteen, and wise for her age. "Well, I really gotta beat it," she added, rising. "Me and the swell's gonna hit the high spots tonight." She adjusted her smart little hat at a rakish angle. "Hope you and the boy friend have a nice time at the movies," she continued. "But honest, too many squawkies give me a pain. Well, toodle oo!"
Just one week later, Fortune, surrounded by a small group of admirers, swaggered into Jean’s restaurant and took a seat at her table—Fortune in the person of “Knockout” Jimmy O’Grady, the latest boxing sensation; the youth who had piled up an amazing record of twenty-five consecutive knockout victories, and was aiming at the dazzling goal of thirty; he whom sporting writers agreed was the coming middle-weight champion of the world. 

QUITE a handsome chap was Jimmy.  Raven black hair, ruddy face, blue eyes, and a cock-sure jauntiness of manner.  The chatter of the crowd soon told Jean who he was, and she watched him with mild curiosity. But Jimmy probably would not have given his big blonde waitress a glance, but for an odd little accident.
     As Jean leaned over the table, a ten-cent green enameled brooch which she wore at the collar of her uniform, dropped sqaurely into Jimmy O'Grady's coffee! Laughing, he dipped it out with his spoon.  But his smile suddenly faded as he examined the trinket closely.
     "Say!" he cried excitedly, "This here's a shamrock! Fellows, this means good luck for me! Can you imagine-right plunk in me coffee!"  And with an eagerness that might have been laughable, but for its evident sincerity, he tried to bargain with the girl for the bauble.  
     "Say, I want to keep this thing," he pleaded breathlessly, reaching for his wallet.  "C'mon lady, how much?"
     Now Jean was anything but slow-witted.  A plan, full born, flashed into her mind even while he pleaded with her to name her price. She waved his purse aside; the brooch was not for sale.  It was, she explained, a gift from her dear dead mamma, and was rich beyond price in sentiment.  But, subtly, she cast the faintest shadow of a hint that friendship-well, friendship was quite another matter.  Jimmy snatched at the shadow.
    "Say, what time do you get off, lady-girlie?" he asked eagerly.
     "As soon as I finish with this party," answered Jean, glancing at the wall clock.
     "Okay.  Can't I wait outside and take you home in me bus?" he pleaded. 
     After just the right amount of hesitation, Jean nodded a slow consent.  "Wel-l-l-all right, meet me at the side entrance."
     From that day Jimmy and Jean entered upon an odd friendship.  Odd because, while it had every appearance of a red-hot love affair, it really was absolutely platonic.  Two causes contributed to this.  First, Jean maintained a calculating demureness; she meant to hook this guy right.  Secondly, Jimmy O'Grady took his profession seriously.  He had five more fights scheduled within the coming weeks, which meant constant training and careful living.  Very careful living.

JEAN loaned the brooch to Jimmy at his next bout.  He wore it concealed in his fighting pants-and knocked out his man in seventeen seconds! His next opponent went out almost as quickly-again with the aid of the shamrock.  After that, Jimmy's desire for the pin became almost an obesession.  He actually began to doubt that he could make his thirty knockouts without its aid.
     This was just the state of mind Jean had planned.  Ingeniously, by hint and suggestion, she led him into a bargain whereby they agreed that when and if he scored his thirtieth knockout, the brooch would become his permanent property-provided that he, in return, would give Jean a diamond ring worth not less than two hundred dollars.  And so cleverly was the promise extracted, that Jimmy really thought the idea was his own.
     In the following weeks, Jimmy-shamrock in pants-won his next two bouts by quick knockouts, bringing him to the dizzy height of twenty-nine straight.  With each victory his faith in the power of the little green trinket increased a hundredfold.  And as for Jean, her anxiety became a sweet exquisite torture, as her diamond drew steadily nearer.  Seated close to the ringside at each of Jimmy's fights, her shrill screeches of encouragement, and her striking appearance, soon made her known as "Jimmy O'Grady's Gal."
     At last came the night of the thirtieth fight.  This one would be a cinch, for Jimmy was fighting Larry Goldstone, whom he already had knocked out once before.  Jean, dressed and looking her handsomest, waited impatiently in her room for Jimmy to phone, as he always did shortly before his bouts began.  This was to prevent her sitting through the uninteresting preliminary bouts.  The phone in the hall jangled.  It was Jimmy.
     "Hello, sweetheart," he called.  "You'd better grab a taxi and start now.  And by the way, I'm not fighting Goldstone tonight.  Says he sprained his ankle.  Cold feet I think."
     "Oh, but Jimmy, who are you fightin'?" cried Jean in sudden alarm.
     "Aw some punk I never heard of, he replied carelessly. "He's a colored fellow."
     "Oh for Gawd's sake, Jimmy- Honest?"
     "Sure baby, why not?  This chap's the only one who'd take a chance with me on such short notice.  But he's only a bum."
     "But, Jimmy, they're so tough.  Supposin'-supposin'-you can't knock 'im out."  Apprehensively.
     "Aw don't be sil," laughed Jimmy, indulgently.  "I know how to fight them kind-give it to 'em in the belly!"
     "But be careful," pleaded the girl,"and don't hurt your hands on his head or nothin'."
     Jean taxied to the arena, and found the place crowded to the rafters.  Goldstone's substitute entered the ring amid a shower of wise-cracks.  A stocky, ochre-colored young man he was, and seemed frightend.

INDEED, poor Joe Tanner was thoroughly frightened, now that his meeting with the vicious, hard-hitting Jimmy O'Grady was only a matter of minutes away.  As he sat alone in the ring awaiting his dreadful opponent, he bitterly regretted that he, a clumsy preliminary boy, had yielded to the glib assertion of his thread-bare manager that there was everythng to gain, and nothing to lose; that if, by a chance blow, he should flatten the great Jimmy O'Grady, he would draw down a small fortune for his next bout.
(Continued on page 79)