Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 161: what you’re looking at

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

OL’ MURPH—PRELIM BOY, not to act embarrassed at me catching him in jail and booked as a prelim boy for a curtain raiser bout. “ He says if I’m a ham an’ egger an’ don’t show my apprecia- tion of what he’s done for me, he’s going t’ throw my pants back in jail fer a month —an’ maybe he wou'd anyhow—” “Well, you needn,. worry, Murph— you're no ham and egger.”’ “ No—lI ain’ runnin’ that high,” OP Murph replied. “Tm a ham or egger— I ain’t aimin’ at any of these expensive com- bination meals just now.” “ What’s the matter, Murph? The last time I saw you or heard of you, you were going like a house afire.” “That’s the last time anybody’s heard of me, Four Eyes—I seem to be just—sort of—I don’t know—slippin’ somehow. I ain’t even drawin’ much as a prelim boy no more.” “The devil you aren’t!” It was a feeble remark to make, but what are you going to say to a bird that you saw slap the nose off a champion, and only get a draw de- cision, and then a few years later you see him fighting curtain raisers? I’ve got an overdeveloped soft spot for these leather pushers, good or bad, so I let on I was busy writing the head to a base- ball story while I swallowed my Adam’s apple a couple of times thinking of poor Ol’ Murph being just a prelim boy now! And he was a likely sort of Irishman, too. Al- ways sort of reminded me of an overgrown bulldog pup—only not so good looking in the face. He sat twirling his cap—occasionally dropping it. I saw he wanted to talk, so I made the opening pass. ‘“ What’s all the trouble? Lost your wal- lop, Murph?” “ No—not exactly—I don’t know—just seemed to pick up a horseshoe wrong and keep a holdin’ of it that way. I—TI pulls three straight draws after I drawed with Punch Nixon in the championship row, an’ then Eddie Kelley swings a lucky one and catches me in the plexus for a knockout in the second round—an’ I’m blamed if Nick Bradley, what you know couldn’t whip a male society reporter, didn’t pull the same bunch of luck about a month later! 151 “ Arter that—sure an’ ye know how it goes, Four Eyes—but I’m pickin’ up a fair bunch of fifty and seventy-five berry cur- tain raisers an’ such—had a semifinal fer a hundred and a quarter a couple of months ago at Tucson—but—” “ Don’t you care, Murph, old top,” & tried to cheer him up. ‘“ You've traveled with the best of ’em.” ‘“Yea—but that was some time ago. I’d try to get into something else—watchman or something like that—always sort of wanted to be a bluecoat, only I ain’t got flat feet—but the ol’ woman—you know how wezzen folks is—she just won’t stand for me givin’ it up, spite of me being thirty- three. You know how they are, Four Eyes. But it ain’t their fault their brains is back of their left ribs. ‘An’ then I sort of need the mazooma —specially since the kid went an’ fell outa the cradle last year and sorta twisted his back like—but pretty! Four Eyes, you’a oughter see that kid’s mug! When I’m home I spend most of my time jest a lookin’ at him—the ol’ woman does, too. So— so—well, hell! I don’t mind these prelim kids slappin’ m” ears off when it’s averaging me more’n a hundred berries a month an’ expenses.” OP Murph, his battered face beaming, picked up his cap from the floor and backed toward the door. “ If you’re ever up in Pueblo, Four Eyes, drop in an’ see us,” he invited. ‘ Take it from me, that kid o’ mine is some bird! But of course he won’t make no fighter— with his back that there way. ‘You ain’t never lamped the ol’ woman neither, have you? She’d be tickled stiff fer to see you. She—she ain’t no more’n a featherweight, but—take it from me, she packs a terrible wallop—’specially with her eyes. Sure, Ill be careful, Four Eyes. I won’t get into no more trouble with the police here. I—when I get back to Pueblo I'll send you a pitcher of the ol woman an’ the kid—I had some enlarged.” TH. Two ROUND GUTIERREZ, in spite of the fact that he was just a sagebrush boob oO CcommicloOokSs (C@)