Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

ONLY CHEESE. which his lone attendant, Manager Martin Burke, industriously swabbed him down. His natural truculence, absent only when he was asleep or partially comatose as at present, began to assert itself. His lower jaw, recently moved up and back by O’Hern, once more assumed preéminence in his face. ‘A fine bunch,” he thought. “ Because O’Hern, the lucky stiff, happened to smear me, they’re off me! A fine bunch!” No such crowd of quitters, emitting a certain monosyllable though some of them were, could permanently squelch Pat Con- ley. He looked them in the eye, and even began to frame his lips on a few polysyll- ables of his own. Steadily was he improv- ing, as Martin Burke, trying to get him per- pendicular, could vouch for; until among “that departing throng he saw the face of Liola McDermott. Sweet-faced Liola, his girl, was being borne off in a group of his intimates among the Pastime youths and ladies. Evidently they despaired of his arising before morn- ing. Liola kept her soft, dark eyes on him. And then—he could have sworn to it!— Liola’s mouth shaped itself to say: ‘You big cheese!”’ At that Pat Conley relapsed. His head again dropped forward on his chest. So that Manager Martin cried somewhat im- patiently into his ear: ‘“Come on, Pat! Get off your back, will you? They’ll be turnin’ the lights out on us, yet!” Ignoring this plea, Conley heard Burke call for help to little Tom Thorpe, a for- mer admirer not yet out the door. “Give us a hand here with Pat, Tom,”’’ said the manager. ‘‘ O’Hern sure nicked him this time. He’s wabbly yet, and his legs no good at all. Us two will have to slide him along to the showers.”’ As Burke and the still faithful Tom hooked Conley under the arms and dragged him, on his heels, off the scene of his mis- fortune, he, himself, was more active men- tally than physically. He pondered. He considered the obnoxious mention of cheese. Why, at the moment of his ill luck, was cheese referred to? What resemblance was there between him in his downfall and a cheese? O15 A possible answer to that suddenly struck him cold. Did they think the resemblance one of color? Could they believe that he was touched with sickly safiron, hateful orange —with yellow! iE as In the home of Patrick Conley, some eve- nings after the collision, the recent event was considered in great detail. Here Con- ley, Sr., father of Pat, conferred with Man- ager Martin Burke. “Tis a strange thing to me, Martin,” ventured Mr. Conley thoughtfully over his pipe, “ that Pat has always sich bad luck wid this O’Hern. ’Tis the third time they have met wid the gloves on. Every time Pat has done very well until the last roun’; and thin it is, each time, that O’Hern does manage to paste him for a home run.” ‘It’s psychology, Mr. Conley,” asserted Martin. Mr. Conley shook his head. “It may be so,” he said at last, ‘“ but I’m thinkin’ Pat has none of that.” “It’s psychology,” insisted Burke. “ You know, Mr. Conley, I’m a salesman durin’ the day, when I’m not helpin’ Pat become amacher champ. Well, it takes psychology to sell goods. And it takes psychology to win fights.” ““ How does it work?” inquired Mr. Cun- ley. Martin cleared his throat. “It’s like this,” he explained: ‘ O’Hern and Pat and I went to grammar school to- gether. Now O’Hern’s drivin’ a milk wagon, Pat’s learnin’ the steam fitter’s trade, and I’m sellin’. It’s a long ways from now to when we were kids together. But when we were kids O’Hern could lick us all with his fists. And we can’t forget it. So that though Pat can lick better men than O’Hern with the gloves, when it’s O’Hern he’s in front of he’s no better than a ham.” ‘“ A cheese.” * Exactly.” “So that Pat will always be bate by this disease as sure as if he had the smallpox,” commented Mr. Conley dolefully. ” “ He will unless we use-nsychology too.”