Pulp Fiction, 1938 · page 26 of 64
10 Story Book, August 1938 — page 26: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is an interior story page from a pulp magazine, featuring both illustration and prose text. The illustration at the top shows a stylized art deco design with a large female figure and two smaller male figures below, credited to artist Bruce. The title reads "Surprise for Eileen by Olga Tamuhsohd." The prose below describes a character named Eileen contemplating her relationship with an older wealthy man named Cort Von Wedel, to whom she has promised marriage. The text reveals her dissatisfaction with expensive but useless gifts when she actually desires money and independence. She considers contacting a man named Reggie, noting it is Sunday night. The narrative tone is cynical regarding Eileen's mercenary motivations.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
ILEEN sat staring at the little bronze Buddha. He had given it to her, the old silly! He had given her so many really expensive useless gifts like that. What she wanted was money. Well, he had given her plenty of that too, had her boss, the great Cort Von Wedel. And she had given him? ... just nothing. Oh, right re- cently she had gladdened his heart with a promise of marriage—the poor sweet old gullible fool. How could a hard-boiled busi- ness man such as he, believe that a girl so young and beautiful would tie herself down for life to a fat, bald old... She turned from the horrific Buddha to her mirror, caressed with her wide-set baby stare the reflection of innocent beauty— that deceptively ethereal type of beauty. Such delicate, almost pastel coloring—the chiffon soft brown hair, the baby-blueeyes, a skin so satiny sheer that the red color gleamed pinkishly through a skin that really needed no rouge. And those faintly pur- plish little veins in her arms and throat. Then the eyes grew hard, seemed actually to change color—from baby-blue to por- celain-slatey-gray. “T’ll tell him tomorrow, the old silly. I can’t go on this way. Reggie might think something wrong, going around with my boss.” “Sweet little ‘virgin’—” she grim- aced into the mirror, “that I be.’ She went to the telephone, called one of her gigolo friends. Yes, he was free; yes, he could come. It was Sunday night. Reggie was up in Oo Ccomiclsoo S C@