Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

eet vb ete i i. an =, ae = KNOCKED OUT WHERE THE WEST BEGINS. _ health to taking large swigs of Hecksa- pogen, the Great Man Builder. He also received an offer from the Vim-Vaude Circuit to play their coast- to-coast theaters, doing a little exhibi- tion boxing, and similar boloney. Two- Punch was about to succumb to that offer, when along came a bid from the land of Hollywood. To reduce a tall telegram, it went like this: Mr. Ike Smith, president of Beautiful Pictures Corporation, offers Two-Punch Simpson twenty-five thou- sand dollars to star in a five-reel fea- ture, the scenario to be selected by their expert staff of selectors; all incidental expenses to be paid, including hotel, railroad fare and, if need be, laundry. “Now that,” says Two-Punch, as we lounged in our suite at the Hotel Ritz-Maloney, “is something like it!” “Yeah,” I says. “‘ Eh, it’s too bad that you ain’t a actor.” ‘““Who says I ain’t a actor?” he flares. “ Did you win the middleweight belt by acting?” I demands. “Just what,” he yelps, “are you grunting about? They is a big differ- ence between acting and boxing. Mean- while, get busy on that movie offer.” “You accept it?” “ Sure,” he says, “ at double the jack. Fifty thou’ would be about right for a boxer who can really act.” “T would put the figure at a mil- lion,” I says, “ for a boxer who can really act.” He gives me a mean look. “ Kindly wire them movie birds,” he snaps, “ that I will consider fifty grand for one picture.” I shoot the wire to Hollywood and, by return wire, receive this answer: : Two-PuncH SIMPSON, Hotel Ritz-Maloney, New York City, N. ¥. One of us is crazy. Ike SMITH, Pres. Beautiful Pictures Corp. “Guess which one he means?” | asks ~ innocently. 517 “Tt ain't me,” replies ‘T'wo-Punch, “so that leaves him.” “Then the movie racket is out?” ““So’s your’ears,” he barks. “ I have personally got a load of important money and I am willing to use it.” “For what?” “To make my own picture,” he says. “What they can do, J can do! Why hire out to them burglars at a paltry twenty-five grand when I can just as well organize my own company and grab off all the profits m’self, hey?” ‘*T don’t know,” I admits, “ unless it is for the same reason that we pay Cal Coolidge seventy-five thou’ a year, when we could get at least a million lads who would take the job at twenty- five smackers a week and cakes.” “ Besides,” he goes on, ignoring my sarcasm, “‘ I should go over big in one of them Western fillums, playing the part of a two-fisted sheriff or some- thing.” “The sheriffs,” I corrects him, “usually have two guns, and only use their hands to eat with.” ‘So I have decided,” he goes on, “that we will pack up and haul hips to Hollywood.” _ “Great,” I says. ‘‘I bet Fairbanks will be jealous.” II. Bricut and early next morning— the morning was bright and we was early—we boarded the Climate Spe- cial, Los Angeles bound. ‘““ Maybe we could hire Dave Griffith or Herb Brenon to direct our picture,” cracks Two-Punch as we whirl through Pennsylvania, “and get a bunch of good actors for a supporting cast.”’ ‘Are you going to play the part of the cowboy hero, or the sheriff who gets there in time to shoot the villain full of ventilation?” I inquires, not that I’m a bit interested. ‘““T will play the part that has the most action,” he retorts. ‘‘ Maybe it would be a good idear to put in a part where I can use my fists, eh?” oe me ot 1a , 7 i bYA)) 3 = tone Anas -