CHAPTER 11
THE CHAMPION
Between studies and sports, Kit was kept busy at Clark Academy, and the four years sped by. Kit grew in those years, mentally as well as physically. He was reaching his full height, his shoulders broadening, his muscles filling out. And his skills in the various sports increased. The fame of the "schoolboy wonder" spread. Offers of athletic scholarships came from many major colleges and universities. Scouts, alumni, and coaches came to the locker rooms and even to the Carruthers' home, trying to catch this prize. This annoyed Aunt Bessie, though Uncle Ephraim enjoyed it. The dour man was proud of this amazing nephew and was actually learning to smile. Kit rejected all the offers. He had come to America primarily for an education. The sports were secondary. He chose a small college near the north woods, that specialized in forestry, for his natural interests were in this field. He graduated with highest scholastic honors from Clark Academy, and coaches and faculty alike were sorry to see him go. He had put the obscure little boys' school on the map. Harrison University was to have a similar experience.
His arrival at tiny Harrison U. was heralded by the college paper and the local town newspaper. No longer the strange foreign boy starting school, his fame had preceded him: the "schoolboy wonder," holder of a dozen world's scholastic track records, boxing and fencing champion, football star. News of Kit's selection of Harrison U. had influenced other high school athletes to choose this little school. The nucleus of a good team arrived with him, at a school whose teams had always been obscure and unimportant.
Kit took up where he had left off at Clark. Under his young leadership, Harrison's teams mopped up their traditional opposition-minor colleges like themselves- and their small stadiums overflowed and were inadequate.
National television and radio crews came to broadcast these obscure games, all because of the phenomenal Kit Walker. Schedules were hurriedly rearranged. Within a year, Harrison's teams were invited to the major stadiums on both coasts. Their track teams entered all the national meets. Even the boxing teams of the large universities- usually minor sports relegated to a corner of the gym- needed larger quarters for the fans. It seems that all the world wanted to see Kit Walker.
He ran wild over the gridirons of the nation, and was an All-American choice his sophomore year. Now, scouts of the professional football teams haunted the locker rooms, as the college scouts had done at Clark. In track meets, Kit began to break meet records, then national records, then world records. He trained for the ten-sport decathlon events and was looked upon as the coming champion. A light-heavyweight boxer his freshman year, he went into the heavyweight class by his senior year, and dominated each division, remaining undefeated. This interested promoters and professional managers. They told him he could have a future in the boxing ring. As with the football scouts, he put them off politely.
His courses-particularly zoology-and such subjects as botany, fascinated him. He was learning scientific fact about the plants and animals he had always known.
College was not all studies and sports. There was an active social life, as on any college campus. Kit's activities kept him busy, but he went to dances and parties. Girls were attracted to him, and were surprised to find him shy and modest, and uneasy with them. He had no knowledge about girls, either from the jungle, from Clark Academy, or from Clarksville. He had a strange old-world courtesy that charmed the co-eds, but he had no romances those first two years. Too busy perhaps; or waiting for someone. Who? He didn't know.
He had an inkling of 'who' during Christmas vacation in his third year. By this time, magazines, television, and newspapers had made his face familiar. Traveling home by bus, he tried to sleep, but autograph hunters and fans made this impossible. 'When he reached the Carruthers' home, the neighbors' children filled the yard, waiting to see him. Bessie and Ephraim were as proud as peacocks. There was a Christmas Eve dance at the country club, and they were anxious to show off their famous nephew. He hesitated. That place had been off limits to him in the first months because of Guran, and he had always refused to go after that. But his aunt and uncle were so proud and happy, that he felt he must go to please them.
A crowd surrounded him at the bar while he drank fruit juice. The place was decorated with colorful seasonal decorations and pine trees covered with flashing colored bulbs. Music came from the next room where the couples were dancing. Kit was bored and needed sleep, but was polite and courteous to all the questions. A slim dark- haired girl was brought to him by smiling Aunt Bessie. She was sixteen or seventeen, simply dressed, with a shy smile on perfect lips. She was the most beautiful girl Kit had ever seen.
"Do you know who this is?" asked Aunt Bessie gaily, shouting above the hubbub of music and voices.
Kit looked at her intently. There had been so many pretty girls at all the games and meets, quick introductions, short dances, endless crowds of pretty girls, but none like this one.
"I'm sorry," he started to say.
"You've stopped running away from home," she said. "Have you shot anything else with your bow and arrow?" Her voice was low and pleasant, and she had a silvery laugh as she saw his confusion about her.
"Oh, silly boy, this is Diana Palmer, don't you remember?" said Aunt Bessie.
The little girl with the lisp, missing two front teeth. A big red ribbon in her hair. The black panther. She lived in the next town, but he hadn't seen her since that day.
"How you've grown," he said.
"So have you," she said, looking at the young giant.
She had been only eight years old when he saved her life on that dramatic afternoon. The shock of the event had blocked most of it from her mind, so she remembered very little. What she did remember was what she heard from her parents and other people and what she read later in the old newspaper accounts her mother had saved. From time to time, she would have glimpses of Kit in the street or at a movie, but he never noticed her. After all, he was a big boy, but she followed his sports career avidly while he was at Clark and later at Harrison. She was thrilled every time she saw his picture in the paper or heard people discussing him. Without realizing it, she had been in love with him as long as she could remember. He was her Prince Charming, though she somehow never expected to meet him.
But because of his success in sports, she became interested herself. She became proficient in horseback riding and tennis, and would soon have a pilot's license. Most of all, she enjoyed swimming. At her school, swimming and diving were a specialty because the swimming coach had been an Olympic record holder. From twelve years old on, Diana was under his tutelage. She soon excelled in racing, spurred on by Kit's constant publicity. But her specialty was diving. Her coach recognized her ability and pleasure in diving-the two necessary ingredients-and devoted much time to her. She began to win ribbons and trophies and was headed for Olympic competition one day in the near future, where she would be a gold medal champion.
Kit remembered the little girl who had come upon him and Guran on the bank. "You were both stark naked," she said with her silvery laughter. He also had the painful memory of the little girl sobbing and choking, dragging herself on her knees away from the crouching black panther. The little girl in his arms, racked with sobs. Now, she was in his arms again as they danced on this Christmas night, and her lovely body was shaking again, this time with laughter as she recalled how he and Guran had grabbed for their loincloths.
Kit was no longer bored and no longer sleepy. They danced and ate together, and he saw her every night during that vacation. At the end of this time, she knew little more about his background than she had at the start, for he spoke sparingly about his homeland. He only mentioned quickly that his mother had died and his father lived alone somewhere. But she learned a good deal about him, his modesty, quick wit, and courtesy. She glimpsed a strong inner core in this young man, a character of steel that she respected and admired, and now knew she had loved almost from the first moment they'd met. As for Kit, he was waiting for someone. He had found her. Diana.
She was in her last year of secondary school, at an Eastern girls' school, so they saw little of each other during the following months. But she continued to follow his career intently in the newspapers. That summer, they had a few weeks together before Diana went to Europe with her mother. They spent these warm June days swimming or canoeing on a nearby lake, and had occasional picnics with school friends on the grassy banks of the Mississippi. There was an Olympic-size swimming pool at a small college near Clarksville and they went there to practice diving from the high board. Kit was proficient at this, having had lessons from his father. But Diana's form was nearing perfection. She had all the style and control of the Olympic gold medalist she would shortly become. If her form on a diving board was almost perfection, her form in a bikini was absolute perfection, the kind of figure young men dream about. Being a young man, Kit did dream about Diana, both awake and asleep, but the dream was always troubled by the uncertainty and mystery of his own future.
She went away, promising to see him as soon as she returned in the fall, and leaving a new kind of emptiness in his life. Then he went to the north woods to a summer job he had secured through the Forest Service as a ranger. It was the first chance he'd had to get back into the woods, and he gloried in it. It was an outdoor life, days on horseback, nights before a campfire, sleeping in a pup tent or under the stars. Memories of the old life in the jungle came back strongly that summer.
But he was back at Harrison for early football practice and his senior year began.
Now, as Kit once again raced over the nation's gridirons and tracks, he reached the status of a national sports idol. His face was on magazine covers; his name was a household word among sports fans everywhere. News of this even reached the Deep Woods, bringing a letter from his father that repeated simply: "Don't forget your books." That faraway world was dim to him now. He was so much a part of this one. Thanks to Kit and his teammates, tiny Harrison U.'s enrollment had tripled. A huge expansion program of classroom buildings and dormitories was under way, and a giant new stadium was rising on the edge of town.
A startling thing happened one day in the early spring. Boxing's Heavyweight Champion of the World was passing through the town, on his way to a major fight. Because of the scheduling, his managers planned that he would stop over at the town and have a workout at Harrison's gym. There were several sparring partners along with the famous champion. But the manager and his party had heard about Harrison's great athlete, Kit Walker, who among other things held the Intercollegiate heavyweight boxing title. Kit was almost as celebrated as the real champion, and the manager decided it would be great publicity if his man could box a round with the college wonder boy.
Kit was not eager for this, as it meant missing a botany lab class, but he agreed when the publicity office asked him to do it as a favor to the school. Word got around campus that Kit would face the champion. It also reached the radio, television, and news sources, and the gym was filled to capacity. What was supposed to be a quiet workout had turned into an exciting event.
The champion was amused by all the excitement and his manager was delighted. The idea had been publicity. He noted the television cameras, microphones, and flash cameras with satisfaction. The coming fight needed publicity. This might do it. "Take it easy on the college boy," he told the Champ. The Champ nodded and grinned. College boy or not, he intended to look good in front of this crowd and these cameras.
A regulation ring had been set up in the center of the gym. There were temporary bleachers on four sides, and the balcony above. The big gym, used for basketball as well as other sports, seated 5,000 people, and every seat was filled, plus spectators packed on the stairs and in the aisles. The entire school and town had turned out. The Champ entered the ring first. He was greeted with loud applause by the friendly audience. He waited impatiently in the ring with his manager and handlers. Where was Kit? You don't keep the champion waiting. Was he afraid? The crowd buzzed. Then Kit bounded into the gym and bounced over the ropes. The crowd roared. The Champ noticed with annoyance that this roar was twice as loud as his own greeting. "Excuse me," said Kit trying to lace his own gloves. "I had a botany exam. I came as quickly as I could."
"That's flowers," explained the manager to the Champ. The Champ grunted. "He'll need them."
"Now take it easy," said the manager. "This is only a workout."
"Sure," said the Champ. Kit's easy manner had irritated him. An amateur didn't box every day with a worlds' champion. A smart college kid. And all his smart college friends out there, cheering for the college boy to "knock him flat!" Were they kidding?
Kit's college coach helped with the gloves, a teammate laced Kit's shoes, and he was ready. The boxing coach called for silence, and announced the event through a microphone. "Let's pretend we're at Madison Square Garden," he said, and the crowd laughed. "On my right, the heavyweight champion of the world." The champion bowed, and the crowd cheered. There were a few boos. The champion scowled. "In this corner, our own Kit Walker." The crowd exploded, a tremendous ovation. The Champ gritted his teeth. They were all pulling for that smart college kid. And besides, the champion was always presented last, not first. "This is a workout for the Champ and his coming match," said the coach. "Let's hope he takes mercy on our own Kit, we need him." The crowd laughed, the others cleared the ring, and someone rang a bell, also causing a laugh.
The Champ eyed his opponent carefully. He was big and powerful, but so were most heavyweights. And he moved well. Okay, he told himself. Let's go. They sparred easy. Kit had no intention of making a fight of it. This was a favor, a workout for the professional fighter. The cameras were on them. The Champ noted this as he circled Kit. He suddenly lashed out, a sharp blow that Kit only partially blocked. Then another, knocking him against the ropes. The manager chewed his cigar nervously. What was his Champ trying to prove with a college boy? The crowd watched, not yet realizing this fight was for real. Kit wasn't quite sure about that either. But in a clinch, the Champ hit him viciously just below the belt and muttered, "Come on, college boy." Kit reacted instantly. He broke away, but began to weave and circle, blocked a hard block, and hit the Champ hard. The Champ shook his head and grinned. "Is that all you can do college boy?" He sneered, and slammed hard at Kit, knocking him toward the ropes. Kit danced away. This man was tougher than anyone he had ever faced. The World Champion. But he had a feeling that amazed him. He felt he could handle this man. He hit back, and they began to slug at each other, toe-to-toe in the ring.
The crowd began to roar. The manager yelled from the sidelines. But there was no stopping the Champ. He realized now that this college boy was no easy mark. He was tough and strong and skillful. So was the Champ. He belted Kit again, and during a quick clinch, muttered an obscenity in his ear. It had to do with his mother. Kit remained cool. He could control the killer in himself now. But his fists exploded on the Champ's jaw and the Champ staggered to his knees. As the manager tried to break through to the ropes to stop them, several collegians barred the way. "He wants a fight," they yelled. "Let them fight."
It was rare for this champion even to have one knee on the mat, and the fact was duly recorded by all the television and newspaper reporters. But that was not all. He bounded to his feet, determined to finish this college upstart. Kit belted him hard in the stomach, a tremendous blow that could be heard all the way to the botany lab, and the crowd groaned with it. As the Champ doubled up in pain, Kit landed three times on his jaw, his fists moving like trip-hammers. The Champ fell like one of the tall oaks Kit had chopped the previous summer. He hit the canvas with a loud thump. There was a silence in the big gym. No one had ever knocked the Champ down, much less out. And out he was. Kit helped the panicked manager and others carry him over the ropes from the ring. Then he waited while a campus doctor hurriedly examined the unconscious Champ in silence. The Champ opened his eyes and growled. The doctor talked to him. He was groggy, but okay. Kit, waiting anxiously at the ropes, smiled at that. The watching crowd now broke loose. If sound waves could really raise the rafters, the roof would have flown off that day. They roared and screamed and screeched and yelled. Also, they laughed. Their own Kit had beaten the Champion of the World, beaten him good!
The nation's television viewers watched the short match in sixty million living rooms that night. The world press reported the event, with full pages of action photos.
When Kit came out of the shower in the locker room, the manager was waiting for him, with a contract. The Champ's coming match was to be postponed until he recovered from this workout. As for Kit, the sky was the limit, the manager assured him. He could make millions. Kit thanked him, but said he wasn't interested in a professional career of that sort. Before the Champ left the gym, he insisted upon seeing Kit. All watched this meeting anxiously. Kit was wrapped only in a towel. Photographers were at hand, recording every moment. Microphones listened, television cameras watched. The Champ's face was bruised and his jaw was swollen.
"Sam says you turned down his offer," he said, glancing at the nervous manager at his side. "I don't know why, but I'm glad of that. You're too much," he grinned, and put out his hand. Kit smiled and shook his hand, and the crowd shouted its approval.
The publicity of the fight worried Kit. He hoped it would not reach his father in the Deep Woods, and give the Twentieth the idea that he was forgetting his books.
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