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the various gents which baffles the almshouse by the via of boxin', there is one baby which is seldom the hero of any prize-ring movies, plays, or novels, yet this guy is as important to the box fighter as his arms. I refer to the coatless, shirtless, hoarse, and perspirin' custodian of the water bucket, sponge, and towels, the Gunga Din of fistiana, i. e., the second or "handler."

From the time the jovial David knocked the genial Goliath for a goal, pugilistic history is dotted with the names of famous seconds whose shrewdness, swift thinkin', imagination, and remarkable knowledge of ring craft has saved many's the totterin' champ from a violent and sudden partin' with his title. Again, poor advice at a critical minute from a excited handler has sent scores of inexperienced young scrappers rushin' off their stools into a knockout, when skillful instructions might of landed them home a sensational winner. The next time you go to a professional aggravated assault and battery séance and get sick of watchin' a couple of them tired business men cuffin' each other, shift a eye over to their corners and watch their handlers work. The ones which