Pulp Fiction, 1943 · page 66 of 100
12 Sports Aces, May 1943 — page 66: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is story prose from a pulp magazine titled "12 Sports Aces" (page 64). The narrative follows Jackie, an apprentice jockey, who has secured a racing opportunity through his mentor Hollie and actor-owner Tip Murray. The passage depicts Jackie's emotional conflict about riding the prized racehorse Bad Boy despite his past scandal, culminating in preparations for the race at the paddock. The story emphasizes Jackie's gratitude toward both men while showing Tip's own anxieties—his fading movie career and significant financial investment in the champion horse. The excerpt ends as the horses approach the starting gate for the race.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
64 12 SPORTS ACES runty Hollister said, as if understanding © Jackie’s look. “But he’ll be here by post time. Depend on that.” Hollister grinned warmly, reassuringly to Jackie, patted his silk-clad back. Jackie tried to return a smile, but the tight ache in his throat spoiled it. He owed so much to little Hollister—almost as much as he owed Tip. From the time he was thirteen, Jackie had been around Hollie as an apprentice. For seven years they had booted mounts for the same _ gtables. When Jackie had been grounded for eight months on charges of riding a ringer, Hollie had stuck by him. He and Tip were the only ones who had... It was a nasty business to be caught racing a horse under another horse’s name. And Tip was a top name in movies and radio. Yet at the risk of what it might do to his box office, it was Tip who’d finally cleared Jackie’s name with the track stewards. For Jackie had been innocently involved. Jackie looked at Hollie’s friendly little prune-face, his dried-pear ears, and he remembered how only yesterday Hollie had spoken to Tip about a job for him. » Waiting for Hollie, just outside of Bad Boy’s stable, Jackie heard every word. “Now listen, Hollie, how can I have him ride for me?” Tip argued in his husky, resonant voice so familiar to radio and movie fans. “Jackie may be a swell boy, but they’ll talk if I race him. And what actor can stand unfavorable pub- licity ?” “But smart riders are scarce,” Hollie pleaded. “An’ if you don’t use him, who can you get? I’m through as a rider, Mr. Murray. Jackie’s smart and clean. And I’m telling yeu he’d make a swell race on Bad Boy.” “T know. I know. Yes, he’s got a clean slate now. He was an innocent party in the thing, and I'd like to use him, but—” Jackie turnéd away from the stable, hie teeth tight, his eyes stinging. He’d always admired Tip Murray, had wanted to ride for him more than for any owner he knew. Still he couldn’t blame him now for looking out for himself. Then Jackie heard Hollie call, come running up behind him. “It’s all set,” Hollie said. “Tip says it’s okay. He’s tickled to death to have you race for him, He wants you up on Bad Boy in the fifth tomorrow.” _ IP was not tickled to death, but i was like Hollie, Jackie thought, te make him think Tip was. Then Jackie said incredulously, “Did you say he wants me on Bad Boy?” Why, the great bay was the Argentine wonder horse! Hollie laughed, laughed as if the way Jackie put his question was very funny. Jackie didn’t quite get ity The first bugle sounded now in the under-the-stands paddock, and the pad- dock judge called, “Get your riders up!” Jackie saw Tip then. Tip rushed up, his blue eyes alight with excitement. “How’s it cookin’?” Tip’s hand was on Jackie’s leg as Jackie sat in the saddle. “How’s everything, boys?” Tip ran a soothing hand along Bad Boy’s neck, and Jackie noticed the hand was trembling, Tip’s hair was thinning and he was getting a little ample around the waist. Tip was slipping in both movies | and radio. But he’d paid a hundred thou- sand dollars for the big, red Argentine wonder horse he called Bad Boy. Beauti- ful horseflesh, a driving finish—nothing was more important to Tip than that. Jackie spoke past the tightness in his throat. “I’li ride you a race, Mr. Mur ray!” he promised, | Tip’s smile was slow, friendly. “I’m gure you will,” he said. Bad Boy danced nervously, eagerly, under Jackie’s legs, Jackie knew, from the records, the big red’s sensational vie tories at six furlongs as a two-year-old. The loudspeaker came on. The horses finished their brush around the turn, pa- raded to the post. Bad Boy was prancing, tense, electric. Jackie kept a close rein. - The horses reached the starting gate. The loudspeaker announced the jockeying of the entries into the little Puett stalls. Then— There they go-o-o! Bad Boy erupted like a thunderbolt, heading off the pack of eight horses in the dash for the rail. The track was fast. This is a horse, Jackie thought. A hun- Gomichooks (E(0)