San Antonio Daily Light

CORBETT AND SANDOW THE CHAMPION AFTER THE HEAVY-WEIGHT LIFTER.

Sandow Says He Can Lick Corbett as Easy as Smoking a Cigarette and Jim Offers to Fight Him in a Small Room.

Sandow, the blonde Hercules, and Samson, the English strong man, are again talking about each other in the newspapers.

Sandow is a better writer than talker, for if a literal interview was published with him it would read as harmoniously as so much pied type.

His dialect is as thick as his biceps.

With all his peculiarities, however, this sturdy German is the only one of the whole crew of iron muscled monstrosities whose reputation has not been dealt lightly with. With all his sublime and nauseating posy tossing at himself he has a clear right and title to the championship of the world awarded him by such competent and reliable sportsmen as Captain Molesworth. Of all his antagonists Sampson, who is now shying mud at him, was to give Old Nick his due, the worthiest. But since their contest in London, Sampson's muscles have gone back on him, due to divers and protracted bouts, according to Bacchanalian rules, indiscreet disregard for the laws of nature.

Though Sandow has occasionally fallen into "dew" lapses and whisky filled the programme during the lapses, he has strictly observed systematic training and worked old Barleycorn out through the pores.

Sandow's capacity for whisky is equal to the combined "tanks" of John L. Sullivan, Charley Mitchell and Jack McAuliffe. His interior department is also capable of sustaining in three meals sufficient food to stock a family of twelve for a week.

"I dol vou how it vas dot I drink so much wizzout it hurting me," once explained Sandow to the writer. "I am a pick eader. I eat four pick meals a day, ond den I drink vhisky, ond you see, de vhisky vel, it feels on vad I eat."

Sandow is a good entertainer and his pet hobby was an explanation of the ease with which he could crush Jim Corbett into deviled beef.

"Vat, Corbett lick me!" said the blonde Prussian, with an egotistic heave of his mighty shoulder. "I good dake Chim Corbett in my arms ond preak him as easy as I shmoke dis cigarette."

But Sandow cut out this speech when the champion met him and demanded an explanation.

Sandow's opinion of how he could "devil" the elongated slip of beef and bone known as James J. Corbett was printed broadcast all over the country. It so happened that Corbett and the strong man were in St. Louis playing a theatrical engagement.

Corbett hearing that Sandow was in town asked the writer to arrange a meeting.

"And if that Dutchman don't meet me and take back what he says he can do to me I will look him up and give him a punch if necessary," said Jim.

Sandow, a wine glass in hand, drinking in the liquid admiration that oozed from the black eyes from a variety actress by his side, was informed of Jim Corbett's desire to meet him. Jim was in the back room of the saloon in which Sandow and the actress were engaged in mutual admiration at $4 per bottle.

The glass fluttered in his hand and the peach tint left his cheek. He was engaged. He would meet the champion some other time. But Corbett insisted, and Sandow, fearing that Jim would create a scene, met the enemy.

"See here, Sandow," began the champion, his legs crossed, his teeth sustaining a cigar, "you have said you could crush me in one squeeze, lick me in a hug. Now, I can't lift horses on my chest or break chains. I did break John L. Sullivan's friends once, but that is neither here nor there. I am not a strong man, but I will go in a small room with you and fight. If you win, think of the glory in it."

Sandow, pale and quivering, denied that he had said he could whip Corbett, and even acknowledged that Jim could whip him.

Corbett replied that he didn't believe it, but would overlook it this time, warning the strong man to be more careful in the future with his talk.

The astounding lack of discretion on Jim Corbett's part in offering to fight Sandow in a small room, and actually giving the German the challenge and insult before his face, is not becoming to a champion. Corbett, however, is peppery hot when his ability is questioned, and would walk into fire after the man who talked so flippantly of him as Sandow. Had the German been as full of the Irish dander as Corbett their meeting in St. Louis would have proved bloody and disgraceful. Discretion, reputation, dollars, everything are forgotten by Corbett when he is "after his man."

Before Peter Jackson was in New York long enough to take a bath after his journey from California, the champion was up in the big black's room taunting and blackguarding him. Had Jackson shown any disposition to resent Corbett's insults there would be long-winded talk in the newspapers about articles of agreement and a purse.

Still Corbett has been frequently charged with crawling out of trouble on every occasion.