Judge — January 22, 1916 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

unalloyed memories of Madeline. He'd known her since she was a slip of a girl, hardly so tall as he. And now—a slender Junol And a face——! Bigby suddenly wished he were seven feet tall. If She could look away up to him! And then he'd dare lay his hand on that brown head, and say— “Say, you shrimp! Wha’ you runnin’ into me for?” It was not at all Bigby’s fault, even though his head was in the clouds and his feet had no special instructions. It was the huge fellow that lurched around the corner and bumped him a yard back- ward—and dropped a vast fist to clutch him. But before the arrival of the paw, Bigby was a yard further back yet. “T beg your pardon,” he said, quite softly. But he was thinking fast. “Beg nuthin’, you grasshopper! I'll tache ye!” “Mebbe I need it,” said Bigby, “but are you all alone?” “Me? I was goin’ for a sandwich—but you'll do!” And he grabbed at Bigby with both paws—but again the “sandwich” was at that instant somewhere else. “I never run,” said Bigby, a little more with accent, “and I guess you can lick me. But I’m the feather ht cham- pion in my ward, and you'd better take off that overcoat, to do it easy.” His heart was sick. This big brute would probably kill him. He'd never see Madeline again. But he'd die trying—and he strutted at the giant, like a bantam at a shanghai, with little turns of his elbows and twists of his wrists, and a certain ‘“‘foot-work” that were not lost on the giant ex-pugilist. Clearly, the shrimp knew his daddles. “It’s a sorrow to ate ye,” said Big Mike—but he was impressed. “ And wust yet to catch ye. I’m no long-distance run- ner. So here's t ” He unbuttoned the heavy ulster, and started to peel it off. Just as it came to his elbows, Bigby sprang like a wildcat, and caught the slack, and threw himself clear of the ground in a des- perate kick sidewise with both feet. Down they went together—the pigmy and the pinioned giant. But Bigby was upper, and his thumbs were in effect where Adam has saved what he got of the apple—the core. “T wouldn’t hit you at a disadvan- tage,” he remarked judicially, thumping you, sir Jock—This reference from Bob Gotrox says you are all right in every way. the big, bushy head to the sidewalk for punctuation of each alternate word—“but this is fa I'll teach you to take one your size.” Big M Jitigated. That uncannily grip on his throat, the p riving of his skull, and a pair of trained knees educating his abdomen—he subsided, after a few giant heaves and clutchings, and lay like a demijohn dissipated. Bigby came to his feet, looking down at the gasping hulk, and with perhaps a little pardonable exaltation of his chest. But then it dropped, and adeep humility seized him. Astreet brawl! What would Madeline think, if she ever knew? And the Boss—Chairman of the ist League! It was only then that he caught a sound very sob, and wheeled to see an autoat the curb ten feet behind him. “We had to go to the station,” said the Boss, “to meet some friends on the midnight train. And we watched the whole business -and waited to see if you needed any help. But you're all right, all right. Ni saw anything cleverer. Hop in with us. We'll take you home later.” But Madeline, when he was seated beside her tow noble! And they say there are no heroes any more! Why, I shall always look up to you, Mr. Bigby!”” Valet—Yes, sir. Jock—H'm, and he said the same thing about the girl I married, and of the Giants last spring! comicbooks.com