Pop's lightning brain reacted. He sent in the haymaker.Frankie was ready for the big test—Ten-Time Winnerof the world title. He was young and fit and able;also, he had Milt's cunning brain to direct every feintand punch. This left only one thing in doubt, the——
VITAL INGREDIENT
By GERALD VANCE
"Champ, what's with yalately?" Benny askedthe question as they lay onthe beach.
"Nothing," Frankie answered."Just fight-nite miseries,I guess."
"No it ain't, Frankie. It'ssomething else. You losin' confidencein Milt? That it? Can'tyou hold it one more time?You guys only need tonite andyou got it. One more to makeTen-Time Defenders—thefirst in the game, Frankie."
"We won the last two onpoints, Benny. Points—andI'm better than that. I keepwaiting, and waiting, for myheels to set; for Milt to sendit up my legs and back and letfly. But he won't do it,Benny."
"Look, Champ, Milt knowswhat he's doing. He's sendingyou right. You think maybeyou know as much as Milt?"
"Maybe I just do, Benny.Maybe I do."
Benny didn't have the answerto this heresy. By lawthis was Frankie's last fight—asa fighter. If he won thisone and became a Ten-TimeDefender he would have hispick of the youngsters at theBoxing College, just as Milthad chosen him fifteen yearsbefore. For fifteen years he'dnever thrown a punch of hisown in a fight ring.
Maybe because it was hislast fight in the ring he feltthe way he did today. He understood,of course, why fighterswere mentally controlledby proved veterans. By thetime a fighter had any realexperience and know-how inthe old days, his body wasshot. Now the best bodies andthe best brains were teamedby mental control.
Benny had an answer now."Champ, I think it's a goodthing this is your last fight.You know too much. Afterthis one you'll have a goodstrong boy of your own andyou can try some of this stuffyou've been learning. Miltknows you're no kid anymore.That's why he has to be carefulwith you."
"I still have it, Benny. Myspeed, my punch, my timing—allgood. There were a dozentimes in those last twofights I could have crossed aright and gone home early."
"Two times, Frankie. Justtwo times. And them late inthe fight. Milt didn't thinkyou had it, and I don't thinkyou did either."
Milt, Frankie's master control,came down to the beachand strolled over to join them.Milt had been a Five-Time Defenderin the Welter divisionbefore his fights ran out. Nowhe was skinny and sixty. Hiswas the mind that had directedevery punch Frankie hadever thrown.
He studied the figure ofFrankie lying on the sand.The two-hundred-pound fightingmachine was thirty yearsold. Milt winced when hecompared it to that of thetwenty-two-year-old sluggerthey would have to meet in afew hours.
Benny said "Hi," and ambledoff.
"Well, boy, this one meansa lot to both of us," Milt said.
"Sure," was all Frankiecould answer.
"For you, the first Ten-TimeDefender the heavyweightdivision has ever produced.For me, The Hall ofBoxing Fame."
"You want that pretty bad,don't you, Milt?"
"Yeah, I guess I do,Frankie, but not bad enoughto win it the wrong way."
Frankie's head jerked up."What do you mean, thewrong way?"
Milt scowled and looked asthough he wished he hadn'tsaid that. He turned his headand stared hard at his fighter."There's something wemaybe ought to have talkeda