Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

360 ‘‘A—whate <A shipwrecked sailor! m Thomas sought to grin. “ But— ‘“‘ Back to your desert island, ae be- fore the wheels of joy run over you—be- cause we haven’t all night for this stunt!” cried the happy coolie. ‘“ Beat him to death, Jester, and drop him overboard! “We want to stage this big special fea- ture before they get desperate and take to dancing again. What’s the matter with the walk, knight? Loose rivet sticking in your foot? Make it a little snappier, will ’ you. Keep step with me and give it some steam! Here comes the rest of the gang.” The crowd had swelled to two dozen, now, and they were moving off, with Mary in the very center. A policeman swung his light club suddenly. ‘An impression,” he proclaimed, “ of a ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Japanese dinner!” The wretched stick crashed down upon the knight’s wide back-plate, which did bear a certain resemblance to a dinner- gong. The clang rang out, to raise a new chorus of delight and a renewed stirring as they strode ahead. i. The club beat on—a Cavalier’s light sword came down upon the helmet, pro- ducing an even more pleasing note—the Jester discovered, too, that even his in- flated bladder would bring forth sound, and went to work with a will. Still young Mr. Henning did not move. His legs were stone; his muscles seemed to have frozen. They did not understand, but he did; they were murdering Mary now! yellow mandarin announcing This story will be continued in next week’s issue of the ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, the consolidated title under which both magazines will appear hereafter as one. Horatio Winslow- “~T him again! Feint with your left! A Cross with your right!” Promptly the boy obeyed, carry- ing the battle to his opponent. Overhead the great cluster of lights poured a glaring swelter of radiance that brought out every dip and swelling of the fighters’ muscles. The heat from the lamps had become an oven blast, with its parch- ing br eath beating down, not only upon the seminude figures in the ring, but also upon the spectators at the reporters’ shelf and the seconds at the corner-posts. “Let him rush you! Let him fight him- ears Digitized by Co gle self out!’’ Crisp, commanding, the voice rose clearly above the scrape of rosined soles on the padded canvas. The momentary attack ended, the boy allowed himself to be made the target of a flight of blows, all of which landed, how- ever, on carefully guarding gloves. “Wait for him! Circle to the left! know you’ve get him if you wait!” His heavier opponent, teeth set, bored in with sledge-hammer -strokes. “ Clinch!”” The order could not be dis- obeyed; the voice carried authority in its very “timbre. You oe, Original from {COI iG OX (0) S EO THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY