Pulp Fiction, 1938 · page 9 of 64
10 Story Book, August 1938 — page 9: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is an interior story page featuring an illustration and prose text. The illustration shows a stylized woman with curled hair and jewelry, labeled "Little Black Gal" by what appears to be "Tamuhsohd" (signature unclear). Below the illustration is the beginning of a story written in first-person dialect narrative, in which a male narrator describes meeting a young woman and discusses his romantic intentions, commenting on her appearance and his own circumstances. The text continues to another page. The writing style and illustration are typical of early pulp fiction magazines, though the specific publication and story title remain unclear from this image alone.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
ing? Not any weight-class stuff though —not much, that is. Probably twenty pounds or so! Not any more’n ’at. ’Cause this little goldilocks frill’s bout a huner’n ten, see? My own ninety pounds o’ brunette dynamite’s just nothin’ over ninety. I mean my little black Fanny ’at carries a little black gat. Boy! Well, I’m justa comin’ from the alley when I meets this little broad. I’m not tired. I’m fresh. And I don’t mean “on-the-make’”’ fresh—just not pooped, ’at’s all. And the evening is still yet only a pup. Just a cub punk. When I lamps this little jane, I knows right off she’s my confection. I don’t care 2 ft know? Little change o’ pace offer- much if she really falls for me either— she’s so damn sweet, if you get me—an’ I’ll be hopped enough if the little drop o’ nectar maybe will talk to me. Or, if we could snitch a few truckin’s. This last is plenty in the air, see, because I don’t know no public dancin’ spots ’at I’d wanta take this wren to. She ain’t no street-walker nor not no golddigger even—I don’t fool with any of that kind ever. And if you don’t, you’re not going to pick up a rib of any sort very often—ain’t that the low-down? Well, this little goldilocks, when I cracks wise at her, looks scared as hell at first. But I really was lonesome—my Fanny’s out 0’ town, see? So, when I tells this blue-eyed (Continued to page 9) Comicbooclk CO