In Manhattan

The electric bulbs outside Promoter Tex Rickard's vast new sport arena in Manhattan blazoned a great name. Dapper dandies called up shingled dames and told them. Mayor Walker promised to occupy a ringside box. Ancient hooligans of the Roaring Forties cadged the entrance fee. Gorgeous Georges Carpentier motored over from his hotel. The bulbs were flaring forth: "Fitzsimmons."

All eyes fastened upon the first figure to enter the ring when the evening's feature bout was announced. Old eyes were confused by a ghostly image that arose out of the real man that stood there (Bob Fitzsimmons Jr.), the image of another* baldish, freckle-shouldered fighter in whose whiplike arms, thin waist and slender legs lurked terrible punching power. The real man that was seen by younger eyes had thicker legs and more reddish hair than his father, but not quite that look of Irish lightning on the leash. But there was great cheering, and more when Jack Delaney entered the ring with some of his Bridgeport, Conn., acquaintances.

They fought for ten rounds and no one was knocked out. Delaney, 17 pounds the lighter, hammered and hammered at that classic freckled face. "Young Bob" did nothing effective save dodge, cover and stay conscious. His legs bore him well, and once or twice he looked awkward enough to be a dangerous Fitzsimmons. But the upshot was a decision for Delaney and sportdom's verdict that, though Young Bob's chin is in the paternal tradition, his fists and will-to-hit are not.

*The late Robert ("Fighting Bob") Fitzsimmons Sr. was national middleweight champion 1897-1907, heavyweight champion 1899-1906.