"OLD BOB'S" JOKES

Marlborough Express, Volume XLVII, Issue 33, 7 February 1913, Page 6

"OLD BOB'S" JOKES

SOME FITZSIMMONS. STORIES

THE SLEEP-PRODUCING PILLOW

Bob Fitzsimmons, who occupies a niche in the Temple of Fame for hay- I ing thumped, beaten, and half-killed • a number of his fellow-men with a ; freckled fist, has no greater admirer ; than Charles Dana Gibson, who is ! known the world over as the portrayer ■ of refined. American girlhood. Mr ': Gibson regards Fitzsimmons as the ; very last word in athletic accomplish- | ments. He also admires Fitz. as a ' humorist-—-so do many of his friends t on this side of the world. Old Bob has told many a tale here in Sydney ' in that strange, husky voice, brought: about by a punch on the throat, that ' have caused great merriment. Some of the stories Mr Gibson ha.s been telling. One .was on a. newspaper man from New Yorlc; who was sent out to Carson 'City to cover the CorbettFitzsimmans fight. Davis was his name

"Bob Fitzsimmons," declared his better half, ."if you've killed that young man it'll servo you right. It'll be a- lesson to you. " Just think of luttin' a guest in your house. Oh, yes, pour vinegar in his nose if you will, but he's mortally injured, and you're a murderer!" The pugilist, who had summoned the whole camp, each of whom was applying a different remedy to.jtsf>, prostrate reporter, was convulsed with grief. "It ain't the pain he's sufferm' that makes me teel bad," Fitz. cried,, "but to Jave im thmk 'is best friend 'it 'im'"' And when Davis finally opened 1113 eyes the pugilist hugged Mm until his ribs nearly cracked. "Now, just to show you, Bobby, mo boy, that I meant no harm I'll hit Dan Hickey ! (his sparring partner). Dan. stand: up there." With that he brought the pillow down upon the heavy-, weight, using considerable muscle. ' but either the pillow was old and s°ggy, or else it happened 'to striko a vital spot. At any rate, Hickey wont to the floor as though he would never rise, and it took fifteen minutes to bring him back to life. But Fitz. was radiant. "I just wanted to show you, Bob Davis," he said, "that I couldn't have killed you. It was just a ;ioke '

Another curiosity of Fitzsimmons!3 humor was illustrated ono day, when a pugilistic friend called to see him. Tho two started down to the pier and wore talking fraternally about matters of the profession, when Fita suggested that if his friend fell overboard with his silk hat and frock coat it would be funny. The friend didn't know about that, and was edging away when Fitz. suddenly ca.uglit him by the shoulders and with a quick push sent-him headlong off the dock into the sea, a fall of about twenty feet. The splash and cry brought the- police and a crowd, but they only found the heavy-weight clapping his hands in glee while his friend was swimming desperately to recover his silk hat.

"Shall I,arrest him?" inquired the officer. "Oh, no," spluttered the victim. "Why, that was only a joke. iiob 3 my best friend." Whereupon he emerged from the waves dripping with brine, both hat and clothes ruined.

'"'That was; pretty good, Bob," he exclaimed, "but you couldn't do it ££ ain -.^ £°, v see J wasn't lookiir. Ti liJ d got hold of y°* lik« this, >'<>" d have gone down yourself " White he was explaining, the frionil who was a crack wrestler, locked a leg within one of Fitz.'s, and quick as a flash upset the Australian and rolled him into the sea. Fitz said it was more fun than he'd! had for an age.

t< "^Simmons," says Mr Gibson, would, have made a success at most anything. He has the true qualities of manhood. Onco your friend ho i 3 always your friend, and no libel goes with ham. Ho is so abstemious that one drink upsets him; care of his physical person and hygiene amounts to a religion. His disposition is benign, his heart tender, and T do not hold it against him that he got his giving by fighting. • "Th*t ,is what h« does best, and it is good logic for everyone to follow the vocation for which they are be*t ntteci. I< itzsiramons was n blacksmith «?^V w al^' becomin X champion oi that trade he found it made, him no money, so he turned to the other. and determined to understand and master rt When a lad, T believe, he was sent to school with the hope of entering the church. The instructor, however did not treat Fits. squnreW oj withholding a prize consisting o "f a prayer book that the boy had won, and so the Church lost what might nave been a renowned moral LV|,t *' One of the storios that has'made P&n& Gibson famous as a raconteur is titzsimmon.s'B description of a knockout. "Fitz," he says. «illu£ tratos the thing with hearing a bund.

_ One evening when Davis was sitting at supper in the training quar- , tens, a few, day,s before the battle, • very much absorbed hx a diet, of apple j pie, Fitzsimmons'.conceivedl' the pretty i joke of tapping the newspaper man ! over the head with a feather pillow. ; Winking to the others, he slyly ap- I preached, twirling the bag of feathers j to get momentum, while Davis, bliss- ; fully unconscious, continued with his ; round genial face immersed in the 1 recesses of the pie. i The blow that Fitzsimmons let fall i in playfulness was so stunning that j Davis dropped from his seat to the ■ floor completely knocked out, and : did not come to for about fifteen i minutes. He- then staggered to his ■ feet and reached the verandah, but i it being winter time he slipped on '! ice, struck his head upon a post, and I again fell, this time in the snow. j The commotion brought Mrs Fitz- ! simmons to the scene, ad though Bob . was remorseful enough she "rubbed ' it in" until the tears stood iv the ! pugilist's eyes. !

of music. When a p-ri7<e-figlit-er is ' 6trnck. on; tlie point ol: the jaw with ' sufficient force to floor and daze him he immediately hears the whole ; orchestra,. The cornets arc blaring fiercely, the piccolos screeching, the bass drum thumping, the tenor drum rattling, the cymbals clinking, and the big horns solemnly tooting. "Presently, as the man's legs begin to wobble and he clutches madly at the empty air, the music grows fainter and fainter. Down on the floor is the unhappy man, while the referee, with slow but certain precision, is counting one, two, three. But tho fighter sees not the linger striking his knell. He only strives and strives to hear the band play. Now the tenor drum is so faint that it seems to be far outside the building, the , bass horns can hardly be heard, and ; the cornets sound as though the band ; were marching further and further ! fu VayY Time is an enmity, and : though the referee has only counted ; six, it seems as though the band has | been playing for many hours. The j nghter tries to lift his iead; he I strains every nerve; his face speaks j agony. If he could only hear the . piccolo. But it is too late. The 1 only- sound is the tiny note of the j cornet, and suddenly that stops. The , man is knocked out."—Sydney Sun.