“ ‘You couldn’t stand up two minutes before a man who knew the first principles of boxing,’ said Goodwin. ‘Your weight and your rush are the only points in your favor.’
“ ‘If we just had some gloves!’ said John, grinding his teeth.
“They both turned and looked at Paderewski as if by common consent.
“Paderewski at that time had coal black hair, as smooth and straight as an Indian’s, that hung down his back in a thick mass.
“Sullivan and Goodwin sprang upon him at the same time. I don’t know which of them did it, but there was the flash of a knife, and in two seconds Paderewski was scalped as neatly as a Comanche Indian could have done it.
“They divided the mass of hair in two parts, each stuffed his portion into two leather cartridge pouches, wound the straps around his wrists, and they went at each other in regular prize ring style with their extemporized boxing gloves.
“Paderewski gave a yell of pain and dismay, and clasped his hands to his bald head in horror.
“ ‘I am ruined,’ he said. ‘My professional career is at an end. What shall I do?’
“I tried to separate John and Nat, but I got a backhander from one of those Paderewski boxing gloves that stretched me out into a big cactus.