Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

318 “This jobbie won’t put on the mitts not with nobody, not this pleasant afternoon. Wait till he sees him!” ‘““Who sees which?” says I. ‘Wait till this gill sees Clarence!” says he. “‘ Who’s Clarence?” I asks, “The Wild Bull of Montana,” says Mr. Eddie West. “‘ That’s who he is in real life, see—Clarence Brown.” IV. WELL, in respects to Mr. Eddie West’s promising candidate for the heavyweight honors, I certainly wished you could of seen him for yourself. Because when it comes to the attempt to give you even the faintest idea of Mr, West’s remarkable athlete, why, I am now signing off until seven thirty, when the program will be resumed. Of course, I might say that Clarence stands a even inch taller than Big Jess, and as you no doubt know, Mr. Willard is no dwarf. What is more, it might be said that Clarence’s extremities, or what might be aptly termed his hands and feet, was somehow vaguely reminiscent of, respective- ly, hot water bottles and violin cases. Like- wise it is probably safe to say that had a six-ton truck run full tilt into Mr. Brown’s pan, the former would of come off by far the second best. As luck would have it, we found the Wild Bull already in the ring, doing a neat bit of shadow boxing. So for quite some time I and Horace was positively lost in admira- _ tion. Or maybe I might better say we was actually struck dumb. And when you stop: to think what this last meant in the case of Mr. Hooper, no doubt you'll be willing to admit there must of been a good reason. Clarence! Like, for instance, calling the ‘Shenandoah ‘“ Cutey ”! “ Well,” “what d’you know?” “T got only one criticism to make,” I replies, snapping out of it. “ What’s that?” asks Eddie. _“ He ain’t original,” I answers. “ He’s a says Eddie, gut and out steal from a play the. missus drags me to.” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, “Nothing stirring,’ breaks in Eddie. . ‘What play was that?” says Mr. West. “They called it ‘The Hairy Ape,’ ” says I. So, anyways, about:then the Wild Bull starts to work on a sparring partner. Well, it wasn’t only a couple of minutes before the Wild Bull was out of work. So then another bozo climbs into the ring. This bird lasts almost an entire round. After which a third jobbie totters into the squared circle. Well, as a actual fact, this last bimbo goes out just when the first one is com- ing to. Hot cay-nine! “And that’s that,” says Mr. West. “Yes, we got no more sparring partners to-day. Unless—” He turns inquiringly to Horace. Well, I wished you could of seen him! Believe it or not, Mr. Hooper couldn’t of been worse scared had his family physician advised him that he was seriously threat- ened with lockjaw. ‘““J—er—thanks,” says Mr. Hooper faintly. “ But I just remembered a press- ing business engagement. Possibly some other day.” And without another word Mr. Hooper goes away from there! “Say,” says Eddie, when Horace had faded out of the picture, “‘ who is that big blimp, anyways? Excuse me if he’s a rela- tive or something.” ‘* He’s a relative,” I replies, “ and you’re excused. In fact, go as far as you like. I’m listening.” So then I take Eddie into my confidence in respects to this curse that’s wished on me at the altar, so to say, namely, Mr. Hooper. And, what with one thing and an- other, Eddie being a good scout and al- ways willing to lend a helping hand, the upshot of it was, I and Eddie goes into executive session. Well, for a while it looks like we’re up against a game which is absolutely unbeat- able. But then something which has cer- tainly all the earmarks of a regular idea | comes to the versatile Mr. Eddie West. Skillfully nursed along, this inspiration of Eddie’s finally blossoms into something which—well, anyways, being then in the act of going down for the third time, I (@) (©) =) (@) ff ©) x com