10 Story Book, August 1938 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

ga aha (Continued from page 7) baby ‘at I’m joiiesome, and won't hurt her none, aid all that, she falls for old louse iné and admits that she is, too. Boy! Was T tr@aditi’ the ether !—just a floatin’ like a poor half-cocked putich drunk has-been, you might say: I asked het first off if she ever guzzled suds. She laughed. A tity little tinkle like some o’ that swell songbird stuff ‘at a toughie don’t know nothin’ about, only likes it anyway? You know. She keeps a laughin’, keeps a handin’ me that sweet music. Better’n any radio pro- gram. Better’n any talkie show, see? Be- cause ‘at little knockout’s right there in person ‘ith her little hand right on my bundle o’ bicepts. And that laughin’ don’t hurt her looks none, neither. I'll tell you what: when that rosebud under her pretty pug flose pops open? Wow !—they look like fice rocks, they sparkle like unset pieces o’ ice laid out on a little piece o’ red velvet. I don't know what the hell she’s laughin’ at, but how could I be sore! I ain't. ‘What's so funny, babe?” I cracks down at her ‘ith a big grin on my mug—we’re al- ready started walkin’ for the nearest decent joint I know. She laughs again and says: “The way you talk.” And snuggles up to my arm and pipes, “But I like it, though. I love it—think it’s darling. It’s so different, really !” So I don’t try to change my chatter— not none—don’t try to talk like no sissy school-teacher even if she does talk that way. It’s cute for her to, but it’d sound goofy as hell for a wrasler, even if I am only a light-weight and not so hot at that. I did though put the old strangler hold on my gutter. stuff. I didn’t talk sewery, didn’t eyen swear... much. I'm so proud o’ this little cutie that I take her up to the bar ’stead of into a booth. We get a couple small ones, and was ever’ body lampin’! I’ll say: I could see ’em in the mirror and ever’ time I turn any, I can see ‘em cranin’ their ugly pusses out of the INTRIGUING STORIES, SPICED WITH PRETTY GIRLS! 9 booths ‘cross from the bar. I was about startin’ to look for a booth for us when I heard a pop and a little squeak and in the mirror I see what'd happened. I steps around my little blonde broad, and sticks my mug up plenty close to this wise guy’s dirty map. “Wihats a gcd. I cracks, “Lookin’ for one o’ them in the puss? It won't be with no open fist, you know.” With that, he just sticks his lousy button out and laughs. He ain’t drunk, see, and he ain’t no sissy, neither. He’s just one o’ them wise gazaboes. And he’s as big as I am. Other- wise maybe I wouldn’t a done what I done. Oh, I might, because I was a burnin’ plenty —him a ploppin’ my little cutie that way right on one of her cutest little curves. And then standin’ there a leadin’ with his chin, laughin’ right in my face? Imagine! So I let him have it. His head back that way, it was one clean shot. And did I take it! He asked for it, and I give it to him plenty. I really socked that bird. It was a old-fashioned haymaker. I got it from down near that tile floor and he got it square on the button—a swell old-fashioned uppercut. I don’t know if his can hit first, or his head —probably his fannie, because a guy like that is too dumb to be hurt in the head, all his brains, what few, bein’ down below, see? Anyway he was plenty cooled. He was o-u-t out cold as the heart of a gang moll. homely °” Nearest barkeep comes around our end, savs, “Better find a booth, you two!” ‘Nother waiter comes and helps him, and they find a booth for smartie. Little while same outside waiter comes to our booth an’ sticks his head through the cuftamis, bes ermnin hike Joe. i. Brown. “He’s all right now. Doesn’t know what happened. Boy! - watta socko!’ I ordered some beer and turned to my little peaches. She’s still a shakin’. I put my arm around her and told her nothing could happen now. “My,” she said, “but you’re strong!” Her eyes as big as them pansy bowling Comicbooks.c© S|