Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 158: what you’re looking at

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

pugs up in the hoosegow. What’d I better do about it, Four Eyes?” I looked up from my desk, and there stood Ed Alwards—Calamity Al, we called him in the land of things fistic. His always serious face was elongated about a foot more than usual. As I glanced at him and then back to my typewriter, where I was trying to beat out some snappy boxing notes for the Morning Mail sport page, he reminded me of an old-time graveside mourner who had come for his fee. “J don’t know why it is,” he whined on, ‘‘ but it seems to be just one thing after another. They went and raised the rates down to the Elms Hotel the very day aiter we got here—an’ then Nick Dodson, that’s promotin’ the scrap, is goin’ ter make me 3 HEY’VE gone and locked one of my By JOHN S. GOTSHALL weigh in Battling Travaine at one hundred an’ thirty-five pounds—an’ you know what that means; he can’t hardly make it an’ have anything left to fight with— an’ then he went an’ got an old cut opened over his right eye, boxin’ with some of these sage- brush hicks here—an’ now they’ve gone and pinched one of my boys. It’s just one thing after another—I was tellin’ Tom Ryan yesterday that of—” ‘“Who have they picked up and what was he doing?” I snapped in. Until I got used to him, Calamity Al always made me mad on sight, but now I don’t get peeved until he starts to talk. ‘“They’ve went and jugged poor Ol’ Murph,” Calamity moaned. “What Murph?” I demanded. You never can tell who a pug is until you get 148 CoMmmicooolks (S@)