10 Story Book, August 1938 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

aS 256 C Eww 10 INTRIGUING STORIES, SPICED WITH PRETTY GIRLS! balls, see? A sittin’ so close that way, and that whole bankroll o’ spun candy tilted back. Cute and pretty both. You know? Well, I couldn’t help a kissin’ her. Right on them claret-colored feath- erweight lips. And she put her soft little arms around my rough neck and kissed me back plenty — just nice though, see? Well, just then our beer comes, and I heard the waiter say, “Oh, oh!” but as I looked up he changed it to some lily crack like, “Excuse me, please!” And did he scram! He wasn’t lookin’ for any of them wallops —he’d seen a sample. Well, that didn’t have nothin’ to do ’ith it, and the night was still young, but I see she’s still nervous, so I says let’s go to my little joint where you can feel safe and where we can be alone. “Where is it?” she wants to know; so I tells her it’s just around the block apiece, but I’d call a taxi if she wants. “Oh, no, I love to walk.” So we did — after I’d kissed her again. And I just comes one o’ takin’ her int’ the beer joint next door to our downstairs. Boy, was that a close nip for me! For the both of us! Reason I wanted to go in there was to show her off. Reason I didn’t do it? I'll explain that in a minute. So, we went on up and I orders some beer by phone an while we’re waitin’ for it she gets lookin’ over my pitchers—you know, trainin’ camps and different poses? Even some bowling shots. “My,” she cracks again, “but you’re strong.” “Veh, it’s the horse reddish in me,” I says. “The whatt” “Op skip it, sligar, Fosaye. About me being tough, ’at’s my racket.” (Tryin’ to be modest, see?) “I gotta be hard — ate a way binake my cakes.” “Your what?” she asks — just a inno- cent as all hell, ’at innocent little doll! I explained, I means my dough, my groceries, my little flop-joint rent. “Oh!” — and she trickles off into that perfect high-C laugh again. I kissed her, and made her do it some more. Did I love that laugh! The waiter ’at brings this beer has known me a long stretch, see? He's al- ways been on the up-and-up with me. Maybe it’s part because he knows I got a poison punch—and because he knows my regular sweetie ’at lives with me car- ries a gat, and is plenty tough with it if she is only a little less than fly-weight. Only she’s out o’ town—did I tell you? ... But I don’t think so. I think he’s just a nice boy ’at ‘tends to his own business, see? Only he don’t like Fanny — get that ! “How’s tricks?” he asks me, and I tell him “okay.” He seems a hangin’ on the door knob a little, and he ain’t lampin’ little goldie none—just kinda fiddlin’. So, knowin’ he’s a right guy, and a wise one tco, I steps outside in the hall, and says: “Spill it, big boy! What’s on your mind?” “Well,” he says slow like, “it’s none o’ my business, but ... did you know your ... I mean did you know that Fanny is back?” “Great MELE, N@!” FY howls 4 “Thanks!” | And did I get that baby out o’ there? And did I take a long road-work inhale of the good old ether once I had this little broad clear around the block and we're grabbing a taxi? Because being strong that way wouldn’t do me any good, and wouldn’t do little goldie any good either, see? Not with that 90 pounds o dynamite called, Fanny. For when- ever she gets a burnin’, she’s plenty poi- son. She and that little black gat ’at she carries. And bein’ runner-upper con- tender for the women’s female light- weight champeenship o’ the world don’t do me no good, see—not against one 0’ them little black gats! Comicbooks.c© 5}