Pulp Fiction, 1925 · page 156 of 196
Adventure Magazine Cover — page 156: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1925. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
= wei Witga) bee 1 Seca SEE ee ee — << = GE SNe: ‘ Gea) | ee 2S BOS iy Pe: gS So 2) Mte y, A> (AA on ‘2 @ 01 a a a a O 72,9. SOON A 22 saa & rs rect wh PR S88 4 re 2 wy '¢,o% 1 Be HL ee Me 2 HOM RR 4 Z 4 yas SEE GLTABETA DATES kL TAX 2.2, C7 <3 ROSS CA ASY DARA Y Sp a x y OAS J (ik OY Ye, ZOLA Lidbet Gi he, . S =e eed) re NS ae b- 42 a@ ys A a . t-@ SSL he Tye she * 5 PT EDS to PES wwe nmaass wigense ZA N yes y @*r gar ie < SOE Dee Tare ate Fy) R05 AK SA Sho ws ests ere we Ae Ja Or a ~ ~A oan ~ RAC SADC ROA Sasa >, ne i Ce eas 4 > © PDS a's Fae € 72. nea TINGS . 2 aS i ce we Ae *: areas se KD 52 ivale @. ibe ow Sa Pa ane.” 5, a % - ./ er SP etd ~ “~_-— Author of “Hidden Blood,” “The Lovable Liar,” etc. : - {OME poetical person once wrote: : S For East is East and West is West. And never the twain shall meet. He was all wrong, that feller—all wrong. And Ill tell you how I know he was wrong. I ain’t no pessimist. Not by a danged sight, I ain’t. If a little kid burns his fin- ' gers on a red-hot stove and keeps away from the fire from that time on, you don’t call him a pessimist. That’s me—burnt to a caution. . All the Harper tribe, as far back as I can figure out, was cautious. We bred more runners than we did fighters. Of course there ain’t as many of us as there is Smiths. Smiths predominate, as it were. Anyway, the Smith tribe ain’t got nothin’ to do with I ain’t been in Piperock for several weeks. Me and “Dirty Shirt” Jones has been pros- pectin’ back in the Whisperin’ Creek hills, with our usual good luck—of gettin’ back before all our food was gone. And we finds my pardner, ‘Magpie’ Simpkins, settin’ -at the table in our shack, wearin’ his Sunday clothes. Magpie is so danged tall that it takes him all day to find out whether a certain pain is indigestion or inflammation of the knee- caps. He’s solemn, Magpie is. And when that elongated, pious-faced cross between a 154 scientific lecture and a —— fool statement gets pouches under his eyes and droops his eyelids like a blood-hound—caution cometh to me. Magpie is writin’. He’s got ink plumb to his elbow and the floor is plumb littered with paper. Does he welcome us effusively? Like he does. He just looks at us, kinda reprovin’-like, as if we should ’a’ knocked. “Well, you old cattywampus, howdy!” greets Dirty Shirt. | Dirty has one eye that kinda oscillates, as it were. Not bein’ what an astronomer would call ‘a fixed orbit,’ it does a lot of jig- glin’ before it picks up what Dirty’s lookin’ at. But it don’t noways affect Dirty’s aim, bein’ as he shoots with both eyes open, and most of the time with both legs workin’. Magpie looks him over solemnly and says— “Mr. Jones, I give you good afternoon.” Dirty spits in the general direction of the stove. “Tl take it,” says he. — Harper,” says Magpie dignified- €. I kicks the door shut, slides my gun around where I can get it real quick and looks my old pardner over. He’s shaved. Yeah, you can always tell when Magpie has shaved, because he’s got so danged many ecomicbooks.com