Pulp Fiction, 1922 · page 92 of 196
Adventure, February 20, 1922 — page 92: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1922. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Ted we oy i ns ¥ D “A Le » al , YN ~ tie : YS PSAP) \ “ei a ak ial 3 I ut ‘L "y om. te CO AES ea RN ahg ibe \) bee Les ‘yy iia . Pr AMEE Jee 2h “bene. 4 i? i iN ny a ‘ 1) C. eu icra aa Reel PY Oe TR OW die fad Py i! read AE he Ta T Bhi a) oa wy Joa SM edo ¥ e é s* 7 mr ( Hair Oil out of the window! - with me. her anatomy. gO The few remaining folks in the hall sort of celebrates by taking some shots at the lights, the same of which makes our im- mediate future kinda gloomy. “Lo, I see a bright light!” squeals Scenery’ S voice. “‘Sus-sunfish, you crop-eared coyote!” yells Hair Oil, and then comes a crash of “‘She throwed Where are _ glass. “My ——!” yells Magpie. you, Ike?” “Keep away!’ I yells. ‘I’m paralyzed all the way down from my upper lip and I don’t know whether me or the steer is on top.” “Paralyzed —— ——!” howls Dirty. “Wish I was. Who in —— got the idea of puttin’ cactus on the stage?” ~ “Look out for that mule!”’ yelps Magpie, and I looks up at the dim figure of that locoed mule, almost over me. I yanks away from my steer and the steer yanks right Under ordinary conditions I’d ’a’ been able to get away, but I’ve got one leg through a string of them sleigh-bells, _ and when that steer starts for the door, Ike Harper E-squire went right along—on the back of his neck. I hooked a lot of chairs on my way, kinda trying to impede the hoofs of prog- ress, but that scared steer made funny little noises and keeps going. There’s a lantern hung at the head of the stairs, and I reckon the steer was hunting for light. Just before we hits the top of the stairs I hears a strain of quartet music: “Tentin’ to-0-0-o-night, to-0o-o——”’ Crash! We hit the doorway with our assortment of furniture, and the next thing I know I’m amid more feller mortals and were all traveling the downward path. I sees some red, white and blue lights, and I’m loose. I reckon the bell strap busted. I gets to tentin’ my feet, dodging stars and other aerial impediments, when the stairs almost shakes out from under me, and I gets a glimpse of Maud S falling downstairs. Folks, I jumped—but too late. Me and Maud S landed at the bottom together. I grabs the mule with both hands, and I feels her get up with me hanging to some part of It’s about twenty feet from Adventure the bottom of the stairs to the door, and I rode some part of that crop-eared mule as far as the exit, where the top of the door slapped me in the face and I went into the land of Once Upon a Time. I’m just about to live happy ever after- wards, when something seems to wake me up. I feels a dragging sensation, along with other painful things, and then I dimly hears Dirty Shirt say— ““You’ve gotta help me, Muley.” “T’ve gotta have a little help myself,” wails Muley. “TI tell yuh that danged steer knocked me down and then the mule fell over me.’ f “But poor old Ike is de-e-e-ad!’’ sobs Dirty. “Hel keep,” croaks Muley; “but I'll spoil if I don’t have help.” “Yuh gotta help me drag him home, Muley. You was to blame for his de-mise.”’ ‘‘Naw, I wasn’t, Dirty. Chuck got the idea of dressin’ up that steer in Tellurium’s | clothes. Tellurium was sore, too. We twisted a wire around the steer’s tail to make it bawl when the gag was pulled off. “We just wanted to make it blat at Mag- pie. Nossir, yuh can’t blame us for it, ‘cause that mule would ’a’ killed him any- way. Idlike to know what in —— woke up that gone-to-seed mule.” “There ain’t nobody to hear,” says Dirty, “so I'll tell yuh. I took a can of red pepper and a can of ginger and mixed ‘em. Then I made a gob of dough in Ike’s shack and put the hot stuff in the middle. Sabe? Maud S. swalleréd it. That’s a “They'd kill us if they knew,” groans Dirty. “Death’s stinger wouldn’t hurt me,” groans Muley. I crawls to my feet, and they don’t see me until I’m standing up beside ’em. “You—you—uh—” stammers Dirty. “You won’t tell, w-will yuh, Ike?” “Ain’t you dead—yet?” gasps Muley. “Enough,” says I, ‘enough to foller out the old saying —dead men tell no tales. I’ve got eyesight enough left to see the lights of Buck’s place.” “L-let’s go tut-to it,” stammers Dirty. Which shows that Piperock never started anything that they couldn’t finish—after a fashion. ‘ JOOKS (E(0) . —— —— a a . ee 2 ee eee 2. >