Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

WZ hi 2 LEE —_— _— 2 oe meee By WILSON COLLISON OME wise-shootin’ gent has once re- marked that the best glove-smackers is born and is not manufactured by the uses of dumb-bells and light bag punch- ing. If this is the low-down on the so- called genius slat-slammers, it might be the so-so for them as has been lugged into the ring in that heaven-born condition. But nothing like this ever happened during my career in the handling of fast babies; and when I picked up Joe Gender, the funny looking heavyweight, and started him off on the road to the fame and some little fortune, I can’t admit that he ever had none of them plastered-on qualities which the cods has spoke of. Joe was ridin’ round on a iwo-by-four trunk wagon the first time I snapped him, and the way it happened—I was strollin’ along one day over in a town in Jersey, try- in’ to figure out what will I do when winter comes. Well, sir, I suddenly hears the sounds of loud talking, and looking up, I sees some big, copper-riveted bozo about the size of a prize elephant; this here gent is knockin’ out a wicked line of words about what does somebody mean by buttin’ in his business. Being some interested, I edges up and I sees that the somebody is a guy which might have been let out of a fish market, he is so exceptional lookin’. This lad, he is sitting on the front seat of a busted down express wagon and is chewing some gum or eating hop, I don’t know which it is—and below him in the Street is this windjammer reefing his sails with the oratory. I listens a little, and it seems as if the express wagon has rode up while this here big bozo has been smackin’ a worn-out lookin’ horse which won’t do no more work account of the facts it has been run out of gas. ‘“ Whata you mean tellin’ me to lay offen 588 comicbooks