The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 151: what you’re looking at

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

SOLID We tried to tell Ole how many kinds of a chump he was, but Ole’s bone-headed- ness was only exceeded by one thing—his obstinacy —and there was nothing to do but adjourn to the one-mile speedway, at the edge of town, for the obsequies. The track was used for both auto and motorcycle racing; and although it was nothing but a dirt course, the turns were banked so high that there.was practically no limit to the speed possibilities. The race was to be for ten miles, flying start; and it ended exactly as we had all known it would. Jud romped around in a few seconds under ten flat, almost lapping the Swede. As a race it was one melancholy fizzle. Poor Ole seemed terribly disappointed; it was the first time his machine had ever been beaten; but somehow I couldn’t get out of my head the thought that he hadn’t pushed the bus, in spite of the condition she was in, up to the limit. And Jud Thompkins? He certainly did puff out like a corpulent alderman. He more than rubbed it in, believe me! We learned later that Smith, the local Tornado dealer, had promised Jud fifty dollars the day he cleaned up Ole’s ma- chine. “ Don’t want to try it again, do you, Ole?” he asked finally. “Ill take you on for any proposition you make.” That made me suspicious, for every- body knew that Ole’s motor could beat the Tornado, after she’d been tuned up a bit. “Y-as, Ay tank so,” drawled Ole. “Good! You’re a regular sport, Ole, and that’s more’n I can say about some other parties around here. Fifty dollars too rich for your blood?” But the Swede shook his blond head in disapproval. “Ay tank ’bout five hunder dollar,” struck Jud — bing/ right in the face be- tween his shifty eyes. He was fairly staggered. Five hundred was a little rich for his blood, but the whole crowd, Regal and Tornado fans alike, had heard his offer, and there was no chance for even an honest-to-goodness four-flusher like Jud Thompkins backing down then. ‘“Yow’re on, Ole,” he says, but most of Jud’s enthusiasm had oozed into the great beyond. The money was put up that night, and IVORY. 525 conditions for the race arranged for. It was to be held on Saturday afternoon, two weeks away, and each man was bound to ride his own machine. The first thing Jenks did was to tell Ole to leave his motorcycle at the shop for a general overhauling and tuning up. “Tt won’t cost you a cent, Ole,” he said, “but you’ve just got to beat that pest of a Thompkins.” ‘“Ya-as, Ay tank so, too,” drawled Ole, as usual. » But the next week the Swede didn’t bring his machine around to the shop, nor the week following. In fact, he didn’t come near the place at all. Jenks was wild. ‘““What’s the matter with the poor fish? ” he raved. ‘‘ Does he think he knows more about tuning up a motor for a race than we do? ” ‘It’s just what I’ve been saying right along,” put in Conway, his face as long as an undertaker’s. “ The poor simp never uses his bean. He doesn’t know enough to know his motor’s full of carbon; and he doesn’t know the kind of stuff Jud ’Il pull off to win. “Why, that guy would sell his soul for five hundred seeds, if anybody was fool enough to want it. Why, Thompkins ’d rather cop the race crooked than straight, as a matter of principle. His trail’s so darned crooked it’s a wonder he don’t meet himself coming back.” Ole seemed to have dropped out com- pletely, for we couldn’t even find him at his boarding-house. Bud Adams saw him on the street one night two days before the race, but the Swede ducked out of sight before Bud could get to him. It began to look as if he wanted to lose the five hundred. The news of the race, with the big side bet, got around pretty generally, and that Saturday afternoon there was a big crowd out at the track. It was to be for ten miles, as before, but this time best two out of three to win. . When our bunch got there Ole was al- ready on hand, standing beside his motor. And he was watching the boat like a hawk. For once, at least, Jud’s crooked work would not include tampering with Ole’s carb or magneto. Jenks was pretty sore at Ole for not doing as he had been told, but he was right on the job to see that the Swede got Go OOOKS MUNG (C@)