Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 2 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

CURIN’ they talked so loud about so’s he could see if they were really serious about wantin’ to fight Regan. These articles was printed, and then I made the rounds of the news- paper offices. I called Cassidy and Regan some names and handed out some articles of my own. They were good articles, too, havin’ been written by the same guy who wrote Cassidy’s. Before two days passed there was great public clamor for a bout between Mike Regan and Bull McArdle. Cassidy and me hung back for a time, meanwhile slingin’ slurs®at each other and our respective fight- ers. Various sportin’-writers, seein’ a grudge fight brewin’, attempted to bring me and Cassidy together, but we hemmed and hawed and stalled. Then one day Dave McGlynn, of Newark, New Jersey, took a hand in the game. Dave was plannin’ an all-star show for his Brookside A. C., and he offered a thousand bucks, to be split fifty-fifty or however else we chose, for eight rounds between Regan and McArdle as the semifinal of his tourna- ment. to tell mé this offer was the one, and we got together with McGlynn at his office. That was where I got my first sight of Mike Regan since enterin’ into the deal with Cassidy. Even in his street clothes Mike sure looked like the goods. With them shoulders he’d have to turn sidewise goin’ through a four-foot door. His chest stuck out in front of him like an awnin’, You could have posted bills on his chin. He’d just been shaved, but his black beard was the kind that no barber could hide; it would have took an exterior decorator to do that. But when he caught a sight of Cornelius O’Mara I could see the reason why Bill Cassidy wanted to tie a can to him. The big stiff actu’lly begun to shake. His eyes blinked, he gulped a couple of times; then he looked away from O’Mara scared- like and begun to glance around McGlynn’s office. O’Mara, as I’ve hinted before, was a fierce-lookin’ bird in his own right, but he certainly oughtn’t to have frightened no regular pug that way. McGlynn gave those two big hulks the once-over, grinned like he was well satisfied with the pitcher his mind held of them fac- MIKE REGAN. Cassidy called me up on the phone . *- % meg 189 in’ each other in the ring; emierpened the drawer of his desk and pulled out some ty = sheets. “Gents,” he says, spreadin’ the papers out “cE Save here the articles of agreement for eight rounds between Michael, known as Mike, Regan and—what’s the front name of your principal, Mr. Hayes?” he asks me. ‘““Clawrence,” I tell him. —“and Clarence McArdle,” says Mc- Glynn. Then he proceeds to mumble some chatter about the party of the first part and so forth which he read from the paper. Just then a couple of reporters, lookin’ for fight dope from McGlynn, dropped into the office. JI seen them and rose to the occasion with a grand-stand play. “TI s’y, old chap,” I says. to McGlynn, “TI think this here Regan guy—er—fellah is- ascared—I mean afraid of my mon. Dash it all, I rully think he’ll tike the gite, don’ cha know?” ‘ Ahr, wha’ d’ye mean?” growls Cassidy, takin’ his cue real cleverlike and actin’ up for the reporters. “I’m bettin’-—I mean wygerin’,” I say, “that he’ll run out on us.’ “Run out—me eye!” barks Cassidy. ‘ The only runnin’ he’ll do will be after that big red-headed stiff of yours!” ‘““Bunk—I mean rubbish!” I say back. “'Y’ know, Mr. McGlynn,” I tell the club manager, “ just for my own protection, I’d like this Cassidy person to post a forfeit that—”’ ‘A fine idea!” agrees McGlynn. “I'll mnaxe him furnish a surety bond so that the club will be protected if—” ‘“ Club—nothin’!” I say. ‘“ My mon is seekin’ a reputation in this fight, and if Regan won’t go into the ring with him—” “Fight it out between you,” says Mc- Giynn. “No fightin’ necessary!” Cassidy butts in. “I'll furnish a bond; yes, and I’ll bet him a thousand right now that Regan wins by a knockout!” As Cassidy had the thousand, and pro- duced it, our little side battle looked like the goods to the reporters. ‘ Keep your chicken-feed—I mean your —your shillin’s!”” I say to Cassidy like I’m disgusted. Mr, McArdle and me cawn’t << gtagt Seep - as ev - af 7 COPMICLOOOKS (E@)