ComicBooks.com Register / Loginit's free!

Pulp Fiction, 1897 · page 7 of 16

You Bet Bob from Cross Crick — page 7: what you’re looking at

📖 Open the full issue in the page-flip reader →
You Bet Bob from Cross Crick — page 7: Pulp Fiction, 1897

A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1897. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.

📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)

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

ee ee a fe don’ have ’quired what et was ef hoss blain’t crowded ’pon us so thick. np thayyer to offer our services, as L | ‘ Third anything that we kin do, ye - thar ter command us. That is ther | ’S al]! 720 we bring with us.” n’ ontc fer ther hull camp ov, Cross throu eak ai fell to ther actin’ mayor to t thingie sort ov ‘sponse, and we had y, rigliskivered that he wasn't at speechin’. ther 4, camp ov Sawbuck thanks ye ad uy e said, but his looks guv ther hun fr under his skin. ‘“ That is ter in’ ye giank ther people ov Cross Crick. Sent _now as thar is anything ye kin sympa! thar is we kin let yet know. Is fer -We thank ye, gents.” l and have come hyer to be chief id any® fer our town, ye know,” spoke deayttd. we aire ready fer any service,’ onet, 7 Aft we aire minus is a parson,” depar Hop Wilson. J >) ared wed merty~ 2 nary a sky pilot in ther camp.’ her q' 5 ther one at Holiday?” I axed. d bee ®Way, and can’t be had, and we vn, ?t none hy er as can even say indy’ yearth an’ dust ter dust *have sent off ter Cross Cr ick fer though, and hope he will be hyer i,’ said Gila Gabe. aire in hard luck,” I had to ad- Ther preacher over thar is sick id can’t git out, except to his own lariat So that is what was rufilin’ i ty blic mind when we kem jn sight, kal feller cits?” h—just that an’ nothin’ else.’ meth) more hat 't thar ary one hyer kin play. par- thal a one,” was ther sad rejoinder, Gin ta galootim ther camp knows of gospel or psalm book.’ r, benighted people!” exclaimed rd. 1y not omit et?” I suggested. herjat would a funeral be without a rs?” cried Gabe. ul], that’8 so!” said I, but ef. you eTharge and make a rousin’ crashun, trter satersfy most folks.” rat Sorter paled at ther word orashun; € "éry ijee weakened him. vasn’t figgerin’ on et,”’ he said, sor- Nd tbek. 0Uts]] ye what,” spoke up Bob; “ hyer 16 Ypard—he is ther silver-tongued or- Fig 0 Cross Crick, the Chauncey De- v—” or 6ftly, Bob,” said I; “ yer treadin’ on logy thin ice! ” S¢nd if ye want yer defunct mayor »ff prime grand, jest let him do ther Oe act fer ye,” he continnered. “ Ef d,m’t git a parson, somethin’ has got : done.” fo; I’ll do et myself,” whirled in nm, Stubburn as ary mule. r tsee, he was lookin’ fer office. . 1 wanted ter be mayor fer all ther » ; and ther bee was buzzin’ in his tut bad. *t he allowed us ter come in thar and ayther hull funeral, what would his n le think ov him? They would think téas a weak stick to support ther dig- ve Ov Sawbuck Cit. rdhat is right, sir,’ said TI. he: “T gree Sig full up. Still, if ye find ye need er anything, }’ll chirp my chune fer ét is worth.” _All right, I'll] ramember,” said Gabe. And as fer a parson,” I added. 8 What *bout et?” is My pard,” jerkin’ my WV fag a Bes, Ln ‘ el BS eins ra ar - . , ‘Ye eT ; 1’: *% * . | | respectful while we Bate we. vats he: 5 Lagain, i ae einen gyin’ doctrin’, and he was oncet ov ther peace and bas ’ministered no end ov oaths. He will do, prime! ” “That so?” chirped in Hop Wilson. Bob was smilin’ modest. “Ov course et’s so,” said I. “ Dy’e s’pose fer a minnit that I would tell ye so ef et wasn’t?” “Then he is jest ther man we want! ” eried Hop. ‘ What d’ye say, boys? This hyer lets us out nice, and if we can’t have ther real article in a parson, we must take what we kin git.” “That’s ther talk!” whooped ther crowd. Bob was in fer et, shure enough! He looked daggers at me, but that didn’t alter ther fact a bit, and I had ter grin ter think what a figger he would cut. “ Well, asked. Then I whispered ter Bob: “ Pard, we have got this hyer thing all our own way. Cross Crick is goin’ ter have the full honor ov ther ’casion,.”’ “ Bt shur is,” said Bob, ‘“‘ and ther dis- honor, too, when bustin’ time comes.” “ Thar’ll be none,” said I. “You'll see,” said he. “What d’ye mean?” I asked him. “What. do I know about preachin’ a sarmount?’’ he demanded. “Wull, what ye don’t know, guess at,” I advised him. ‘ We aire hyer to do this thing up brown, and we must do et,” He jumped his shoulders, but said nothin’ nrore, and by that time ther aci- in’ mayor was ready to respond ter my question, fo we ceased our Whisperin’ and paid ‘tention to him. “Wull, we wanted ter have a grand parade, ther fust thing,” he said, “ car- ryin’ ther dead mayor around ther camp a couple ov times, stoppin’ finally out her in front ter have ther speechin’, but when we got word that ther parson was not ter be had, et knocked us out.” “No need ter,” said my pard. “ Let’s carry out ther program, and ye kin lean hard on Cy Johnson hyer fer .all ther help ye want when et comes to speech- in’,”’ He was gittin’ in ’venge fer my lectin’ him parson. . Ther crowd took et up, and thar was nothin’ else ther actin’ mayor could do but comply with ther demand ov his people, So, accordin’, ther arrangements wur begun, and thar was started one ov ther greatest funerals ever seen, I’m bettin’. We had sized up ther actin’ mayor, so ter say, and whar in we had found him weak, we resolved to be strong, what is ther program?” | CHAPTER VIII. PREPARIN' THER PROGRAM. We wur then ready ter leave ther she- bang. My pard thought et would be right and proper ter imbibe-oncet more ’fore we vamoosed. Hop Wilson was ready fer that, ter say nothin’ ov ther rest ov ther crowd, and when Hop had put away four good fingers more, and all ther rest three on ther average, folks wur beginnin’ ter feel good. Then we moved to’rds ther door. Ther crowd streamed out ahead ov us, havin’ crowded in ’pon us after we had entered. When we reached ther door we took off our tall hats and held ’em most sollum rh out, and oncet ~ Se ae ee * we one: ; re Ns ee, a justice | nity. You Bet Bob from Cross Crick. a ee ee ee a: Them ’ar hats guy us a heap ov dig- =| —_— “Now, what?” asked my pard. “I’m by gosh stuck,” said I back. “But we musn’t be,’ said he. “We must keep ther ball rollin’. Thar is plenty ov good whisk in this hyer town, ter be had free all day, ef we kin work et right, and et must be worked.” “You aire goin’ ter git corned, that’s what you ar’ goin’ ter do,” I ’monstrated with him. “1’m not a-goin’ ter fight ag’in et,” s he. “ You’re a hog,” said I. “An’ you’re my pard,* sez he. “ Et is all you think about,” I told him. “ An’ you are allus on hand ter second mv moshun,” he shot back. Et was no use argyin’ a simple thing like that, so we let et drop. and guy ’ten- tion to ther actin’ mayor. He was struttin’ around thar in his mournin’ sash like ary gobler on state parade, anc thought he was cuttin’ some feather, when he couldn’t hold a candle to us. “Wull, mayor, what’s ther word?” I asked him. “Ther grand parade, ov course,” he said. “‘ Wasn’t that understood inside?” “Et shur was,” said my pard. “Ther grand parade et is,” said I. “You will be ther marshal, ov course, Gila Gabe?” “Wull, I ruther opine I will,” he said with some feelin’. ‘“‘ You two don’t want ter fergit that I am ther head ov things hyer.’ “Shur yFt, ” said Bob. ‘* That.-is all right,” said I. “ All we aire hyer for is ter represent Cross Crick and do what little we kin to help make things go off nice.” “That is right,” said Bob. “ Don’t think fer a minnit, mayor, that we want ter rob you ov any ov ther honor that is your’n ov right. Bless you, not a bit ov it.” That seemed ter mollyfy him. eZ “Yer want yer hoss,” said I. ‘“‘ Ther marshal must be mounted.” “Yas, that’s so,” said he. “I thort somethin’ was lackin’.” He forthwith sent a feller ter fetch ther same. . “ We will want a platform or somethin’ ov that kind out hyer,”’ said my pard. then, “Yas, that is one thing we have ‘ranged fer,’ said Gila. “ Et is all ready, all but ther puttin’ up. Hustle, boys, and fetch her forth.” ‘* Don’t think we aire meddlin’,” said I. “We want ter see this hyer funeral a rousin’ big success, and we aire your servants ter command in anything we kin say or do.’ Et was hard fer ther cuss ter keep rankled, even if he did hate us wuss’n pizen. Ther platform was brought out and sot up. Et was something decent. Ther carpenters ov ther mines had made et, and et was substanshul and ov good ‘pearance. “What d’ye think ov it?” asked Gila Gabe. “Et is some shakes,” said I, meanin’ thet et wur purty elegant. “T would like ter drink to ther henith ov ther fellers what made et,” said my__ | pard. _ “Me too!” yauped out Hop Wilson. Ther rest ov ther bums ov ther camp ~ thirded ther moshun, and they all pire a rush fer ther Gilt Bdge. 7 BY eatin bes put ther veto” toe Sits rit yy et g! 3 we aoe", ST Oo e dent. We = ae oe, Sn ae ne yee “comicbooks.com m £ bi a +3 . = va