“It was the Governor of the State of New York who had left me. It was the fighting man who entered the room. He wore a sleeveless flannel shirt, his khaki rough-rider uniform trousers and light canvas shoes without heels. First I was struck by the expression of his eyes, which are large, light blue, placed well apart—aggressive, fearless, persistent.
“He is about 5 feet 8 inches in height, but his great breadth of shoulders and bulk of body made him seem shorter. His arms are short, but heavy and well muscled. His head is that of the typical fighter. It is broad and symmetrical, poised on a powerful neck. A plumb-line could be dropped from the back of his head to his waist. That formation shows not only the fighting spirit, but the physical vigour to sustain it. His short, thick body, with its high arched chest, is certainly set on unusually strong, sinewy legs.
“After pulling on his gloves he stepped forward on the mat. Most men on coming for the first time to box with a champion, present or retired, show some trepidation. There was none of that here.
“After we shook hands I studied him carefully. Then I led a left jab, following it up with a faint-hearted right that landed like a love-tap high up on his cheek. He dropped his hands and stopped.
“‘Look here, Mike,’ he said indignantly, ‘that is not fair.’
“I was afraid I had done something wrong.
“‘What’s the matter, Governor?’ I asked.
“‘You are not hitting me,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’d like you to hit out.’
“‘All right, Governor,’ I said, thinking to myself, this man has a pretty good opinion of himself.
“We started in again, and I sent in a hard right to the body as he rushed in and then tried a swinging left for the jaw. He stepped inside and drove his right to my ear. It jarred me down to the heels.