Pulp Fiction, 1922 · page 134 of 200
Adventure Magazine Cover — page 134: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1922. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
s 4 Vi 0 ee Ae —e < £2 yr, ihe 2 Bey Thy Sass tell YY ae 2 OW ogee ed iy ° ’ ji eA ae “A -* Auf fis : £7 oe “ Eel ne fe se Q ; o ae Fas elI7S, ‘ as Eg, Sf, = f fey t My HA A e& re 3 gy roe" 0 Af eo J ja 4 Pages ee et ie ~~. ‘ N es eee Se “ = ah Rr eee ee My sia . - = "a <a AS a7 oa s gptes on = Cana is ye eee ay ; ey 4 eae 2V7 Le ae 2 Clyde Dy Toush Author of “Justice,” “The Wil to Go On,” ete. E WERE playing cribbage. It was my opponent’s turn to play. He drew a card from his left hand and held it aloft, sus- had been engrossed in the game. His action caught my eye, took my mind off the game and I became aware that every man in the room—some dozen or more all told—had stopped talking. They had ceased their various activities and were standing about in odd poses, expectant, tense. It was a tension that could have been felt even had the room been in darkness. My opponent was gazing over my shoulder and beyond. All that I have described so far had taken place, I think, in less than a second. I turned my head and saw Red Donnelly shoot out his left hand, curved like a talon. It hooked around the back of Kelp’s head. The head was jerked violently forward and at the same instant, Donnelly brought his right hand swiftly upward, wide open. The heel of Donnelly’s palm struck Kelp’s chin and, with a rasping movement, passed up across the lips and then against the oe I can close my eyes now, after fifteen years, and see it all. The pool room, the library, the card room and the canteen, all under one long, low roof. I can see a fellow with a magazine open in his hand. Three or four others with cues in their hands leaned against the pool table, beside which stood Donnelly and Kelp, the two principal actors in the scene. ‘This was at the Marine Camp—for we lived in tents—on Yerba Buena Island. To those who know it best, it is known as Goat Island. It lies practically in the center of San Francisco Bay, about half way be- tween San Francisco and Oakland, a little nearer the Frisco side. Donnelly dropped his hands to a fighting position and stepped back, slightly crouch- ing. Kelp stood for a moment and grinned good-naturedly. There was no indignation, no anger in that grin. Nor was he afraid. There was no sign of fear about him. He turned to the pool table, indifferent, un- ruffled; and with equal indifference, called and made a three-cushion bank shot that involved a kiss. It takes a clear brain, a clear eye and nose, pointing it painfully toward the ‘steady nerves to make a shot like that. forehead. ‘ We finished our game of cribbage, my 128 COMiclOokxS.COHM