Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 157: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A WALLOP a coupla mummies. But at the same time I knew that if he thought somebody that counted expected him to fight, he’d do it in a mmute. And the only one that does count in-a ease like this is a dame; she packs the real wallop. “And then late to-day it hit me right between the eyes. I remembered what you had told me about how you met the Kid— how quick he had fought for his girl. Bein’ a smail town lad and regular, I figured he was as Strong for her as ever, and if he knew she had come to New York to see him lick Dolan he was goin’ to do it. So I sent the wire for her.” | “But you didn’t even know her name,” I says. : ““T had to take a chance on that,’ an- swered Red. “I didn’t sign it, but I fig- ured he’d know who it was from. ‘They always do.” ie] o BY WIRE. 627 “ But it was just before the fight and anybody could have sent him a eee 4 I argued. Red give me a long look. “You musta mislaid your brains,” he says. “Sure, anybody could have sent him a telegram, but nobody would have ended it ‘Tommy dear ’—except the girl,” said Red, disgustedlike. And the funny part of it was that the girl was there. She had read about the big fight, and had got her old man to take her to New York so she could see it. She didn’t send no message because she wanted. to surprise the Kid. Of course, he went up in the air some when he found out how Red had framed him, but he wasn’t sore much. A guy ain’t got much time to get sore when he’s busy gettin’ married and takin’ one of these here eee trips to Europe. Le] THE WILD HONEYSUCKLE PAIR flower, that dost so comely grow, Hid in this silent, dull retreat, Untouched thy honeyed blossoms blow, Unseen thy little branches greet: No roving foot shall crush thee here, No busy hand provoke a tear. By Nature’s self in white arrayed, She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, And planted here the guardian shade, And sent soft waters murmuring by; Thus quietly thy summer goes, Thy days declining to repose. Smit with those charms that must decay, I grieve to see your future doom; They died—nor were those flowers more gay. The flowers that did in Eden bloom; Unpitying frosts and autumn’s power Shall leave no vestige of this flower. Philip Freneau. Eomichbooks.co