"No. They haven't been brought up on tabasco sauce. What can you expect of them?"
They soon arrived at the Alhambra Theater at which the fight was to take place, and found it in progress. A large crowd was collected, consisting of soldiers and natives in equal proportions. The last round was just finishing, and Joe Corker was in the act of knocking his opponent out. The audience was shouting with glee and excitement, the cheers being mixed with hisses and cries of "Fake, fake!"
"I know Corker," said Cleary. "Come, I'll introduce you."
They pushed forward through the crowd, and were soon in a room behind the stage, where Corker was being rubbed and washed down by his assistants. Sam looked at the great man and felt rather small and insignificant. "Here's a kind of civilian who is not inferior to army men," he thought. "Perhaps he is even superior." He would not have said this aloud, but he thought it.
"How de do, Joe?" said Cleary, shaking hands. "That was a great fight. You knocked him out clean. Here's my friend, Colonel Jinks, the hero of San Diego and the pacifier of the Moritos."
Corker nodded condescendingly.
"We enjoyed the fight very much," said Sam, not altogether at his ease. "It reminded me of my own experience at East Point."
"It was a good fight," said Corker, "and a damned fair one too. I'd like to punch the heads of those fellers who cried 'fake.' It was as fair as fair could be, and Dandy and me was as evenly matched as two peas. I always believe in takin' a feller of your size, and I did."
"That wasn't the way at East Point," said Cleary. "They didn't take fellows of their size there."
"That's against our rules anyway," said Corker.