Tip Top Weekly No. 118: Frank Merriwell, Engine Wiper — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

TIP TOP WEEKLY. 3 “Well, you’ve got ter know somethin’ in order ter be fit fer somethin’.”? “JT might be able to learn something in time.” ““No, I'm afraid not. begin at the wrong end. You’ve madea mistake. This ain’t no candy store. We don’t sell dry goods here, either. You'd Jook pretty measurin’ off ribbon for ladies, an’ that’s about all you’d be good for.’ You’d have ter The stranger smniled in a cool manner, letting his eyes run over the wiper from his feet to his head and then back again. ‘Tt strikes me that you must be a misfit at anything,’ he said, suavely. ‘About the only thing you can be real good for is to drink beer. It’s plain that you are a tank.”’ ‘“Vah!’’ snarled the man, ceasing to laugh in a moment and showing his teniper. ‘‘You don’t want to make any funny reinarks!”? ‘*T don’t see anything funny about that. On the face of it, it 1s a truthful statement, and you are a living, breath- ing witness. If you can’t have your booze regularly, you do not consider life worth the living. You would make a first-class advertisement for a cheap grog shop.”’ The big wiper actually staggered. ‘CWhat?’? he faintly gasped. ‘‘What’s that? Why, P)l eat him!” ~ Tf you try it, you will find that I digest hard,’? came calmly from the stranger, who was watching the man closely. ‘I can read your history in short order. Numb, rum, bum. That’s enough.”? For a few moments it seemed that the big wiper would hit the stranger, but, instead, he struck one of the men who had caught hold of his arm and cautioned him. The force of the blow drove thie _ man up against the rear driving wheel of the engine and made a cut on his cheek, starting the blood. The man put up a greasy hand to wipe away the blood, say- ing huskily: ““That’s all right, Mart. I was doin’ it for your good. Knowed you'd be fired if you struck him and he complained on ye. That's all right.” And not one of the other men said a word, It was plain that every one of thei was afraid of the fellow called Mart, whom the visitor saw was the bully aniong the wipers. The lips of the youth curled with scorn as he surveyed the bruiser. ‘So you are a brute as well as a drink- ing bummer!’ he exclaimed. ‘‘It’s a wonder to me how aman like you can hold any kind of a job.’’ ‘©Va-a-a-ah!? snarled the now thor- oughly angered ruffian, showing his yel- low, tobacco-stained teeth. ‘‘ You get out of here, or I'l] give you some of the same !’? “No you won’t! I have dealt with brutes like you before.”’ This cool defiance of the stranger, ~ scarcely more than a boy, with smooth face and dainty hands, was something the big, greasy wiper could not understand. “If it wasn’t for spoilin? yer fine clothes, I'd use ye fer a wiper ter finish the job on this machine,’’ declared Mart. “TY think you’re too clean, anyhow.’ Then he ejected into his hand the quid of tobacco that had been stowed in his cheek, and, with a flirt of the hand, sent it full at the white bosom of the shirt worn by the youth. Spat! it struck and stuck there. Sinack ] | With a leap, the youth had planted his fist fairly between the eves of the bully. Thud!—the man dropped to the ground. FREE WAR BADGES. SEE LAST PAGE. GOMGOOO @ S (SO) in