I was in my dressing-room getting ready, when in stalks a brawny giant and inquires: “Are you Carlton?”
“That’s me,” I answered.
“Well,” he said, “I’m the Champion of the Meat Market, and I gotter win. Unnerstand that! I don’t want to hurt you. But all my pals are in front, an’ I just gotter win.”
“All right,” I said. “We’ll see about that when the time comes.”
Well, we entered the ring, and the first round had no sooner started than I saw he meant to knock me out if he could, so I let him have a straight left, and repeated the dose at what I considered suitable intervals. In the beginning of the second round we clinched, and the big man whispered in my ear: “Hi, you go easy with that left of yours.” “Right!” I whispered back. “But you stop swinging that right of yours.”
After this the going was a bit easier, and in the end I won easily on points; greatly to the disgust of the Champion of the Meat Market. My share of the takings came to £34, and I enjoyed myself immensely. My opponent got ten shillings, and I don’t think he enjoyed himself at all. Harrison was frankly annoyed.
Another adventure I had, out of which, however, I got no enjoyment whatever, was when I was trapped in a den of lions at the Theatre Royal, Oldham. They were Madame Ella’s lions, she being in the bill with me that week. During rehearsal on Monday on the stage I got near the cage where the animals were, and an attendant pushed me away, saying that the lions were dangerous, and that one of them had just clawed the hand of a railway porter.
“Rot!” I replied. “They’re as quiet as kittens. Why, I wouldn’t mind doing my show in their den.”
“What’s that you say, Carlton?” interjected Mr. Dottridge, the proprietor of the theatre, who was seated in front watching the rehearsals.
“These lions!” I replied. “They’re as quiet as kittens. I wouldn’t mind giving my show in the den.”