Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 23, No. 12, December 1978

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Knowing it was the miserable dream happening again did not make it any less humiliating for Danny White. He had climbed into the ring and his seconds were tugging the arms of his satin robe backward off his shoulders. The arena was silent.

It was when the robe came away and he was seen to be dressed in pajamas that the crowd began to laugh. Then Danny was alone in his corner and the bell rang. His opponent was upon him before he could turn, raining blows on his shoulders and the back of his head. Danny covered up, peering past bent arms in striped flannel, and saw the referee joining in the attack, aiming punches at his ribs’ and kidneys.

It was so unfair he began to weep. Tears spattered the leather gloves as he pressed them to his face and he sank to his knees on the canvas. And now the people in the arena began their slow, echoing chant. “Hope-less White... Hope-less White...”

Danny arrived late at the breakfast table, having been called twice. He looked imposing in his dark-blue security-guard uniform. Barbara was feeding cereal into Janice, who was waving a fist from her highchair perch. Danny was carrying yesterday’s newspaper. He set it down and picked up the kettle.

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