Pulp Fiction, 1931 · page 31 of 68
10-Story Book, July 1931 — page 31: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is an interior story page from a pulp magazine, featuring both an illustration and prose text. The ink drawing shows two men in what appears to be an altercation or tense moment on a platform or bed. The story text describes a scene at an auction where a drunk man named Colby is attempting to sell property—specifically "Piedmont Castle"—to an auctioneer named McGilton. The narrative suggests this is a con or deception of some kind, with McGilton and Colby working together to sell questionable property to a crowd. The page appears to be part of a hardboiled crime or con-artist story, though the exact publication title and author are not visible.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
(7 Le AE. CsA “ ed if as iO. Kerk, ° 4<0.0 sat Pa aa A AeA Ser a iH Ms Fy . o ata acre > «wa- CL LE LIER Ome Cf Cl mre Lyifl7, , y o* . (aes 22°.2-"7H Swe 4 — “av Of Op Yl] 4 : . of o 4 N it igre: ! ¢ * ree x. ee ¥? S. AZZ by | $ , Ay bal 7 + 4%, “e y -~ cs oe = yo ~e- o” agag’ @ te 00 CLS 6 te Oy 2 - Ty kas +” ge Pe nd ‘hy Fm! - - y ~ as essen right around the corner. Five dollars ?— thank you, that’s more like it. . Five dollars... who'll say six? .~. Colby staggered up against the plat- form. His impersonation of a “plain drunk” was perfect. His. vest was two buttons out of line; his tie twisted around on his shoulder, and he was bareheaded. “Shay—Mister aushioneer—’scush me. >) Got piece land wanna shell. Will you shellit for me?” “T’ll sell anything in the world, brother,’ McGilton answered. “I used to sell ice to the Eskimos. How much do you want for your land?” “Don’t make a-dam! Shell it. Here’sh the deed already made out—fill in name later after shale. It’s ‘Piedmont Cashtle’ —folks ’round here know it, an’ me, too.” * 9 ge ULE >, Sa L+ = -. ae . e- RH Was 6, gE 0, 4 UTM LL EL Hf . *. e a . SN : A) %. weal. N; > \ \\ Ph a aS eA) eo, } \ ¢. 9 te OLS Oe Oe. McGilton whispered to a bystander: “Do you know this man and the prop- erty?” “Yes. It’s young Colby. House been closed for over a year. His dad kicked out ina hospital. The boy has been gone. The place’s probably worth couple a-thousand—maybe more.” “Thanks,” McGilton nodded and then turned to the crowd. “What am I bid for the famous ‘Piedmont Castle’ ?—worth five thousand if it’s worth a dime. The owner wants to get rid of it so he can go into the ‘bootleg’ business. What am I bid?” The crowd laughed and yelled various wise-cracks at the auctioneer. “He’s drunk, Mack.” “He'll want it back in the morning.” “Deed no good, Mack, from a drunk man.” McGilton waved his hand for silence. “What am I bid for ‘Piedmont Castle’?’ “One dollar.” A voice of rare sweetness spoke the COMIC OOOKS.ECO