Early one morning last week a wet and weary man reached the house in Fairhaven, N. J. where he lived alone, peeled off his soggy clothes and flumped into bed. He was tired because he had come from a program of wrestling bouts in New York's Yankee Stadium where his mighty voice had roared names, weights, decisions, to the crowd. He had got soaked when showers fell during the matches. He sank into a troubled sleep. Before daylight he woke, blinked into the darkness, tried to turn over, made the terrifying discovery that he...
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