Judge — January 4, 1930 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE Chefs Chafe as Steak Smugglers the Harlem River Ship Canal yester- Flood Turkish Baths day, Hot and Cold King Brady, dea . of detectives, explained the sit By S. J. Perelman] to a group of reporters named Fred Pudding. New York, Jan, 2.—‘Any steak “It's like this, Pudding,” admitted you find without its passport in a Brady, sopping up the remains of the ‘Turkish bath is contraband, ‘The sir- Harlem River Ship Canal with a piece Join smuggler is striking at the very of bread, “certain scoflaws in’ our foundation of the Americ community have been carrying top Shoot to kill.” rounds, sirloins, and hamburgers into With these terse words, Old King the Turkish baths under their reefers hief of the New York Secret and broiling them there to save money. naugurated a campaign of Only yesterday one of my operatives ruthless warfare against smugglers of pinched Victor Ergot of Rye, New raw steaks into Manhattan's Turkish York, as he was sneaking out of a baths. Calmly eating spoonfuls of shower room with a tenderloin he had I ALWAYS PULL UP MY CHAISE AT NIGHT VOUCHED VINCENT Turn on the flood-lights, Noah; I think I hear that tidal Perelman thundering on the breakwater. “I say, my good man, 1 you drive me around town?” harried Hatcher, the tin-horn sport. “Sure, if I can get a harness to fit you!” cackled the cabby. And now I suppose you'll be afther wantin’ me to bury the Hatcher. parboiled there. He was taken to headquarters and grilled, but would not speak, The tenderloin was grilled also, but clung loyally to Ergot and refused to break silence.” “In fact,” continued King Brady, as he went over to the icebox and took out a plate marked “Delicious Soo Canal Soup,” so loyally did this poor, devoted stcak cling to Ergot that we had difficulty in finding out exactly where the steak left off and Ergot be- gan, The only course, therefore, was to eat him and see. You follow me?” “A Pudding does not know the meaning of the word (fear) sir Fred, lifting his head high. d on, my lord, and by the bones of Sir Henry Morgan and his crew of greasy Lasea s, we "Il scuttle every man jack of 'e “Well spoken, lad,” commended Brady, his earrings gleaming in the firelight. “Harkee to my plan. Know- est thou the trim ketch, ‘Maid of Prospect Park Boulevard and Flat- bush Extension’?” “Ay, sit, that I do, and a jollier craft was ne'er carcened in the Dry Tortugas!" replied Pudding, draining his glass. “Then list,” whispered — Brady. “When Sirius first mounts in the heav- ens, we shall swing aboard her as she rides in the roads and slip anchor on the neap tide. Then off to the Carib Sea with forged letters of marque to strip some rich India merchantman or stately Spanish galleon bound out from the New World with her cargo of goodies, comfits, and comestibles.” “T’ faith, a goodly plan,” purred Pudding. nd it’s many the stout fellow in Bristol town will be envyin’ yours thruly. Ay, Dirk, ‘twill be good seein’ Bouncin’ Betsy waitin’ for her sailor lad outside the ‘Cutlass and Blintzes’ and me a-steppin’ proudly up High Street with me parrot on me shoulder!” The rascally pair had become so absorbed in their cunning design that they had not noticed the entrance into the tavern of two masked figures. A velvety voice spoke from the dark- ness. Good morrow, Brady; have we laid you by the heels at last?” “Sabatini!” cried Brady, leaping to his feet and tugging at his singlestick. “Your servant,” replied the dandy with silken insolence as he held a rapier to Dirk’s throat. “One move, my fat pullet, and you are a dead ma His companion whipped off his mask and Pudding fell back aghast. “Jeffrey Farnolstein!’ he shud- dered. (Continued on page 32) comicbooks.com