Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 2 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

CURIN’ goat and I’d come to the trainin’-quarters all prepped to put into effect what I thought was a pip of a scheme for doin’ it. It was simple and based on my own experience. The one time in my life that I could have committed murder without regrets was after livin’ for a month in a house where there was a young baby on the floor above me and a phonograph fiend on the floor below. It was losin’ sleep that done it, and I fig- gered that the same treatment was liable to have the same effect on Mike Regan. Accordin’ly I introduced a novelty in pugil- ism—night trainin’, Our gang slept all day, or as much of the day as we wanted to. Then, after every- body in Mike Regan’s quarters was safely in the hay, we got busy. We jumped on the floors. We pounded on the floors with chairs and clubs. We yelled and screeched. We hurled tin water-buckets around. We did everything we could think of to make enough noise to prevent the people next door from sleepin’, Id let one of my goofers punch a bag for a minute or so; then I’d signal him to stop and I’d shoot off a pistol. To Mike Regan’s excited ears these sounds would tell a horrible story— Bull McArdle was such a terrific and power- ful puncher that an ordinary punchin’-bag could stand up under no more than a few light taps from him. Or we’d scream and yell and pound for a little while; then we’d stop and, when all was quiet, we’d inquire of each other at the top of our voices whether the guy Bull McArdle had just knocked out was dead or only crippled for life. And the next day, while Mike was sunnin’ himself on the porch of Johnny De Foe’s house, one of our crew would hobble up and down in front of him on crutches and with his head all bandaged. A bright guy might have thought all this looked phony, but not Mike Regan. Poor Mike took it all as evidence that Bull Mc- Ardle was the most ferocious:and blood- thirsty murderer unhung. In two or three days Mike was hollow-cheeked and wild- eyed. Between the strain of lookin’ for- ward to facin’ such a slaughterin’ brute as McArdle and his loss of sleep Mike was fit to be tied. His condition wasn’t im- proved any by the fact that Cassidy, De MIKE REGAN, 191 Foe and their assistants drove him at top speed all day long, Our night antics didn’t bother them much; they slept in the day- time the same as those in our camp, one or two of them stayin’ up to see that Mike did all that was required of him in the way of road work and other trainin’ stunts. Cassidy and De Foe kept eggin’ Mike on to raid our bungalow and slaughter McArdle. “That guy’s just tryin’ to get your goat,”’ they’d tell him. ‘Why don’t you go in and make him quit? You're the biggest guy here—the only one that’s big enough to tackle him.” A couple of times, Cassidy reported to me, Mike seemed on the point of takin’ their advice, but each time he must have thought of Matty Hughes and McArdle’s three wins over him and got cold feet, for he shook his head and stayed where he was. He almost got down on his knees to Cassidy askin’ him either to shift the trainin’-quarters to some place where there’d be less noise at night or to let him train at night, too, “What!” yelps Cassidy. ‘ Show that guy that he’s got us on the run? Let him drive us out of here? I guess not! That bird McArdle don’t scare me none, and I’d like you to show him that he don’t by bust- in’ in on him and givin’ him a blame good beatin’.”’ There was no movin’ Mike, though. Well, ten days went by and with them ten nights, and for them ten nights Mike Regan hardly slept a wink. He got so surly and grouchy that Cassidy, De Foe and the rest of them began to get afraid of him. For the first time in his career, Cassidy said, he began to take some joy in workin’ cut with his sparrin’-partners, That is to say he was takin’ out on them all the hate he was developin’ for Bull McArdle. He acted so vicious in his trainin’ bouts that his sparrin’-partners organized a small- sized strike and made Regan put on four- teen-ounce gloves. of sofa-cushions on his mitts he was knock- in’ ’em out as fast as they’d stand up to him. Cassidy and De Foe were pleased at this; they thought Mike’s cruel way of wallopin’ his trainers was an indication of COPMIE LOOKS Even with those kind | (e(0)