10 Story Book, August 1938 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

ing? Not any weight-class stuff though —not much, that is. Probably twenty pounds or so! Not any more’n ’at. ’Cause this little goldilocks frill’s bout a huner’n ten, see? My own ninety pounds o’ brunette dynamite’s just nothin’ over ninety. I mean my little black Fanny ’at carries a little black gat. Boy! Well, I’m justa comin’ from the alley when I meets this little broad. I’m not tired. I’m fresh. And I don’t mean “on-the-make’”’ fresh—just not pooped, ’at’s all. And the evening is still yet only a pup. Just a cub punk. When I lamps this little jane, I knows right off she’s my confection. I don’t care 2 ft know? Little change o’ pace offer- much if she really falls for me either— she’s so damn sweet, if you get me—an’ I’ll be hopped enough if the little drop o’ nectar maybe will talk to me. Or, if we could snitch a few truckin’s. This last is plenty in the air, see, because I don’t know no public dancin’ spots ’at I’d wanta take this wren to. She ain’t no street-walker nor not no golddigger even—I don’t fool with any of that kind ever. And if you don’t, you’re not going to pick up a rib of any sort very often—ain’t that the low-down? Well, this little goldilocks, when I cracks wise at her, looks scared as hell at first. But I really was lonesome—my Fanny’s out 0’ town, see? So, when I tells this blue-eyed (Continued to page 9) Comicbooclk CO