Gurney whispered, “She’s nuts to come here.”
Dillon shook his head. “It’ll keep Franks’ mind right,” he said.
The crowd began to yell. Sankey was coming in. The spotlights followed him down the aisle, reflecting on his red dressing-gown. He climbed through the ropes, holding one hand above his head.
Gurney said, “Hell! He thinks he’s Louis.”
Sankey plodded round the ring, keeping his hand up, while half the house groaned at him, and the other half yelled. He had four handlers in white, who stood self-consciously in the corner, waiting for him to get through with his stuff. He came back at last, and stood in his corner, flexing his knees and worrying the ropes.
Morgan cast a look at Dillon. “He’s got his nerve back, ain’t he?”
Dillon sneered.
Franks came down now. The crowd got to their feet for him. The roof trembled at their roar. The three twisted their heads to watch him come. Franks looked a little fine-drawn, and there were smudges just under his eyes. He had to walk past them to the ring.
Gurney called, “Don’t get too tough with him, Harry.”
The crowd liked that, and they hooted. Franks didn’t look, he kept on.