按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
omach。
I walked briskly through the streets to the post office； entered； and twirled the bination dial on my post…office box。 It didn't open； but I could see that there was mail inside the box through the dirty brown glass window。 I searched through my wallet； found my box receipt for the rental； and shoved it through the window to the clerk。 He studied the slip for a moment； and called my attention to the date。
〃You're almost ten days overdue on your quarterly box payment； Mr。 Mansfield；〃 he said。 〃Your box was closed out and rented to somebody else。 I'm sorry； but there's a big demand for boxes these days and I don't have any more open at present。 If you want me to； I'll put your name on the waiting list。〃
I shook my head； pointed to the rack of mail behind him。 This puzzled him for a moment； and then he said： 〃Oh； you mean your mail？〃
I nodded impatiently； drumming my fingers on the marble ledge。
〃If you have any； it'll be at the general…delivery window。〃
I picked up my receipt and gave it to the woman at the general…delivery window。 She handed me two letters and my current Southern Cockfighter magazine。 I shoved the letters and magazine into my coat pocket and filled in change…of…address cards to transfer the magazine and postoffice…box letters to my Ocala address。 After mailing one card to the magazine and turning in the other to the woman at the window I returned to my hotel room。
The first letter I opened was from a pit operator in Tallahassee inviting me to enter a four…cock derby he was holding in November。 I tossed the letter into the wastebasket。 The other letter was the oneS I had been expecting。 It was from the Southern Conference Tournament mittee； and contained my invitation； the rules； and the schedule for the S。C。T。 season。
I studied the mimeographed schedule； but I wasn't too happy about it。 There wasn't a whole lot of time to obtain and keep gamecocks for the tourney。
SCHEDULE
SOUTHERN CONFERENCE
Oct。 15…Greenville； Mississippi
Nov。 10…Tifton； Georgia
Nov 30…Plant City； Florida
Dec。 15…Chattanooga； Tennessee
Jan。 10…Bioxi； Mississippi
Jan。 28…Auburn； Alabama
Feb。 24 …Ocala； Florida
Mar。 15…16 …S。C。T。…Milledgeville； Georgia
I was already too late for Greenville； Mississippi。 The S。C。I was unlike other invitational mains and derbies； both in rules and gamecock standards。 When Senator Foxhall had organized the S。C。T。 back in the early thirties； his primary purpose had been to improve the breeds and gameness in southern cockfighting。 The hardest rule of the tourney was that all the cocks entered in the final round at Milledgeville had to be four…time winners。 A cock can win one or sometimes two fights with flashy flies in the first pitting； and some good luck。 But any cock that wins four in a row is dead game。 Luck simply doesn't stretch through four wins。 This single S。C。T。 rule； more than any other； had certainly raised breeding standards in the South； and it kept out undesirables and fly…by…night cockers looking for a fast dollar。 All the pit operators on the S。C。T。 circuit were checked from time to time by members of the mittee； and if their standards of operation dropped； they were dropped； in turn； by the senator。
Like the other big…time chicken men； I had fought cocks in the highly petitive six…day International Tournament in both Orlando and Saint Pete； and I intended to enter it again someday； but I preferred the more rigid policies of the S。C。T。 It was possible to enter the annual International Tournament by posting a preliminary two…hundred…dollar forfeit； which was lost if you didn't show up and pay the three…hundred…dollar balance。 The winning entries made big money at the International； but I could make just as much at S。C。T。 pits and at the final Miledgeville meet。 And the wins on the S。C。T。 circuit really meant something to me。
At that moment； however； I didn't feel like a big…time cockfighter。 I was at rock bottom and it was ironical to even think about fighting any cocks that season。 All I had in my wallet was eighteen dollars； plus some loose change in my pockets。 I owned a thirty…dollar guitar； a gaff case； a few clothes in a battered suitcase； and a lease on a farm。
Of course； the contents of my gaff case were worth a few hundred dollars； but I needed everything I had to fight cocks。 I sat down on the edge of my bed； and opened my gaff case to search for the last letter Doc Riordan had sent me。 I opened the letter； but before reading it again； I made a quick inventory of the gaff case to see if there was anything I could do without。 There wasn't。 I needed every item。
There were sixteen sets of gaffs； ranging from the short one…and…one…quarter…inch heels I preferred； up to a pair of three…inch Texas Twisters。 I even had a set of slashers a Puerto Rican breeder had given me one afternoon in San Juan。 With slashers； the bird is armed on one leg only。 I don't believe in fighting slashers for one simple reason。 When you fight slashers； the element of chance is too great； and the best cock doesn't always win。 With a wicked sharp blade on a cock's left leg； the poorest cock can sometimes get in a lucky hit。 Pointed gaffs； round from socket to point； are legitimate。 Once a cock's natural spur points have been sawed off； the hand…forged heels fitted over the half…inch stumps are a clean substitute for his God…given spurs； and they make for humane fighting。 Two cocks meeting anywhere in their natural state will fight to the death or until one of them runs away。 Steel spurs merely speed up the killing process； and a cock doesn't have to punish himself unnecessarily by bruising his natural spurs。
Of course； I had fought slashers when I was a soldier in the Philippines because I had to； and I knew how to fight them。 But I had never considered them altogether fair because of that slight element of chance。 Cockfighting is the only sport that can't be fixed； perhaps the only fair contest left in America。 A cock wouldn't throw a fight and couldn't if he knew how。
Every pair of my sixteen sets of heels was worth from twenty to thirty…five dollars； and I needed them all。 The correct length of heels is a mon argument； but what really determines the right length for any given cock is the way it fights。 And even though I favor short heels； like they use in the North； or 〃short…heel country〃 as the North is called； I would never handicap a cock by arming him with the wrong spurs out of vain； personal preference。 It is a crime not to arm a cock with the spurs which will allow him to fight his very best。
In addition to my heel sets I had a spur saw； with a dozen extra blades； moleskin heeling tape； blade polishers； gaff pointers； a set of artificial stubs for heeling slip…leg cocks； two pairs of dubbing shears； one curved and the other straight； and two new heeling outfits； each containing pads； tie strings and leather crosspieces。 There was also a brand new roll of Irish flax； waxed tie string； some assorted salves and a few gland stimulant capsules。 To anybody except a cocker； this collection of expensive equipment was worthless junk。 If I pawned the entire contents of my case； a pawnbroker wouldn't give me more than forty dollars for the lot。
For a few thoughtful moments I clicked the dubbing shears in my hand； and then picked up Doc's letter。 I'd been carrying It around in my case for more than three months。
Dear Frank；
I haven't written you for some time； but I wanted you to know your investment is as good as gold。 Don't be surprised if you get a stock split one of these days soon and double your eight hundred dollars。 Next time you get to Jax； drop in and see me and I'll give you the details。
Very truly yours；
Doc Riordon
To anyone who didn't know Doc Riordan； this letter would have sounded encouraging indeed。 But the letter was more than three months old and； unfortunately； I knew Doc too well。 I liked the man for what he was and respected him for what he was trying to be。 But unlike me； Doc lived with a big dream that was practically unattainable。 All I wanted to be was the best cockfighter who ever lived。 Doc； who had already reached his late fifties； wanted to be a big…time capitalist and financier。
He wasn't a real doctor； I knew that much。 He was a pharmacist； and a good one； and somewhere along the years he had added Doc to his name。 I had met him several years before at various Florida cockpits； and I had bought conditioning powder and ergot capsules from him when he still had his mail…order business。 Conditioning powder can be made up by any pharmacist who is given the formula； but Doc was dependable； well liked by cockers； and he had also invented a salve that was a quick healer for battered cocks。 However； there are a lot of businessmen who advertise the same types of items in the cocker journals。 There wasn't enough big money in cocker medical supplies for Doc； and he dropped out of the field。 However； he would stifi supply a few friends like myself when we wrote to him。
Some four years before； Doc had caught me in an amiable mood and with more than five thousand dollars in my pockets。 I had put eight hundred dollars into his pany…The Dixie Pharmaceutical pany…and I had never received a dividend。 I had had several glowing letters from him； but not a cent in cash。 In fact； I didn't even have any stock certificates to show for my investment。 It was one of those word…of…mouth deals so many of us enter into in the South。 A handshake is enough； and I knew my money would be returned on demand。 。 。 providing Doc had it。 But whether he had it or not was something else altogether。
It was five o'clock and I decided to wait and see him in the morning。 Feeling as low as I did； I didn't want to return to my room with a turndown that evening。
I left my room； walked down the street to a café and ate two hamburgers and drank two glasses of milk。 When I returned to my room； I nipped at the gin and read my new Southern Cockfighter magazine。 The magazine had been published and mailed out before the Belle Glade derby； but there was a short item about the Homestead pitting； and my name was mentioned in Red Carey's column； 〃On the Gaff。〃
Looks like bad luck is still dogging Silent Frank Mansfield。 His sad showing at Homestead makes us wonder if his keeping methods are off the beam。 Another season like his last three； and we doubt if he'll still be on the S。C。 T。 rolls。
The item should have irritated me； but it didn't。 A columnist has to put something in his column； and I was fair game。 There was nothing wrong with my conditioning methods。 They had paid off too many times in the past。 My problem was to get the right cocks； and when I got Icky from Mr。 Middleton； I would be off to a good season。 I finished the rest of the gin and went to bed。
As far back as 320 B。C。 an old poet named Chanakya wrote that a man can learn four things from a cock： To fight； to get up early； to eat with his family； and to protect his spouse when she gets into trouble。 I had learned how to fight and how to get up early； but I had never gotten along too well with my family and I didn't have any spouse to protect。 Fighting was all very well； but getting up early was not the most desirable habit to have when living in a big city like Jacksonville。
The next morning I was up； dressed and shaved； and sitting in the lobby by five thirty。 I bought a morning Times…Union； glanced at the headlines and then went out for breakfast because the hotel coffee shop didn't open until seven thirty。 I lingered as long as I could over coffee； but it was still only six thirty when I returned to the hotel。 I was too impatient just to sit around； and I soon left the dreary lobby and walked the early morning streets。 The wind off the river was chilly and it felt good to be stirring about。 A sickly sun rode the pale morning sky； but after an hour passed it began to get warm and promised to be a good day。
Promptly at eight I entered the Latham building to see if Doc Riordan had arrived at his office。 The Latham building was an ancient red…brick structure of seven stories built in the early 1900s。 Nothing had been done to i