MAUD. [Sitting down in leather chair.] I told you I’d reformed. Let us talk about something else. Why is it girls like prize-fighters? I should think—ahem—I mean it seems to me that girls would think prize-fighters horrid.
FITZSIMMONS. They are men.
MAUD. But there is so much crookedness in the game. One hears about it all the time.
FITZSIMMONS. There are crooked men in every business and profession. The best fighters are not crooked.
MAUD. I—er—I thought they all faked fights when there was enough in it.
FITZSIMMONS. Not the best ones.
MAUD. Did you—er—ever fake a fight?
FITZSIMMONS. [Looking at her sharply, then speaking solemnly.] Yes. Once.
MAUD. [Shocked, speaking sadly.] And I always heard of you and thought of you as the one clean champion who never faked.
FITZSIMMONS. [Gently and seriously.] Let me tell you about it. It was down in Australia. I had just begun to fight my way up. It was with old Bill Hobart out at Rushcutters Bay. I threw the fight to him.