Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 163: what you’re looking at

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

OL’ MURPH—PRELIM BOY. trying to figure out a way to annex those extra twenty-five sinkers that were to go to the winner. Two Round Gutierrez opened the third frame like a house on fire. Murph was barely weathering the storm when he got caught with a left hook square on the chin. Instead of crumpling to the canvas, he was lucky enough to fall into a clinch, and in Spite of the referee, he held on until he got his bearings again. Whipped to a frazzle, his native Irish rushed to his rescue. The fans were cheer- ing and hooting, depending which way they felt about it. “ Stand still, you big boob!’ Murph whis- pered into the Mexican’s ear as he hung on in the clinch. “ It’s your pants they’re making fun of—they’re split an’ comin’ off!” Consternation registered on Gutierrez’s face as he pictured those precious, mono- grammed satin trunks—torn and coming off. His mitts flew to his hips to save them. Ol’ Murph stepped back and leveled a right to the jaw and a left to the stomach. Both landed. The referee started counting over the fallen Mexican. Pandemonium broke loose. The Mexican fans gasped—then, figuring the only way their marvel could have been floored was by a foul, let out a storm of protest as he was counted out and started to leave their seats and settle the matter to their personal satisfaction. Hooting, yelling, screaming, fighting Mexicans and gringoes seethed around the ring. Bluecoats clubbed their way through the frenzied crowd, restoring peace and making a few arrests—including Calamity Al and Ol’ Murph, neither of whom had taken a hand in the disturbance. A police captain laid down the law at the top of his voice; the patrol wagon en- veloped the prisoners and the next bout was announced just.as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. ““Yea—thew’re both in the hole,” the police sergeant said when I dropped over at headquarters after I’d put the sport sheet to bed. ‘‘ No—they ain’t no chance, Four Eyes. Chief said them fighters was bad hombres an’ fer me not to set no bond on 153 ’em. They’ll have a hearing at ten o’clock in the morning. Chief claims he’s going to make this town hotter’n ’ell for prize fight- ers—I reckon they’ll soak these two pretty hard.” I had a long talk with Chief Smith next morning before court, but it didn’t do any good. “We don’t want that element in town,” the chief said. “But, chief,” I remonstrated, ‘ prize fighters are just like any other class of peo- ple—ninety-eight per cent to the good.” ‘Then I’ve never seen any but the other two per cent,” he replied. ‘‘ And, besides, we're shutting down on ’em—got a petition the other day—no—sorry, Four Eyes, but I gave this one bird a chance for you the other day—and here he is right back again.” We walked into the court room. Ol Murph and Calamity Al were standing in front of the judge trying to plead not guilty.” ‘“ Judge, I want to make an example of these two men,” the chief said. ‘“ We’re trying to clean up the town and it can’t be done with a bunch of thugs and prize fight- ers around—-and we want to let the world know it.” . ** Six months on the chain gang at hard labor,” the judge decided. Calamity Al’s chin hit him on the chest, but OP? Murph took the knockout without a sign. Out in the hall he asked me if I’d go and get the seventy-five berries that were coming to him on the bout. I made the promoter come across and took the money over to Murph. “What do you want to do with it?” I asked him. | Ol’ Murph let on he was wiping his nose with his sleeve, but he was really dashing some moisture from his eyes. “Send it to the ol’ woman, Four Eyes— she an’ the kid ’ll be needin’ it. I—I wisht you'd mail it to her—an’—an’ fer the love a’ Gawd, Four Eyes, don’t let her know I’m in the hoosegow.”’ IV. MonrtTuHs later, I decided to leave God’s country, as some bird that has probably oO Gomicsooks=co