Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

THE MEANEST MAN. ing. Then, catching sight of the twirling mouse, she indulged in the immemorial right of woman, and squealed, backing away from it. ‘“Laws, George! Ain’t you the meanest man!” a : George Bangs came to a full stop, his mouth open. His nerveless fingers un- clasped, and the mouse dropped, and scut- tled off. 7 The words roused an‘ancient grief. The meanest man! There had been a time when he would have hailed this as praise well deserved. But now— THE U 53 A grin stole across his tanned face. “Come on, Jennie! Let’s go back. We got greens enough now to feed all the live- stock. I’m hungry!” Hand in hand, Jennie swinging the big basket of dandelions, they trudged back to the old house, from whose great chimney a banner of smoke rose straight in the clear air. Everything was against a man acting up mean, here in Miller’s Creek! None the less, George chuckled as they passed the wall where had first learned all about poison Ivy. END U U A VENETIAN TRAGEDY OH The son of a , a wily Venetian son of a gun— gondolier— Declared that the day of the gon was done; His voice was a haughty sneer. — _ He said, “I will get me a chuggety-chug And chivvy it far and near—” This son of a gun was a petrol bug, This son of a gondolier. So he hoarded lira and bought him one, This son of a gondolier, And he tinkered from morning till set of sun All fruitlessly, dear, oh dear! For the chuggety-chug wouldn’t chuggety-chug, But sulked in a manner queer; So the son of a gun wore a saddened mug, This son of a gondolier. Oh, this son of a gun was filled with woe, This son of a gondolier, That his chuggety-chug refused to go; He trickled a salty tear. A hammer he took, And he made of that craft a smear— This son of a gun who was son of a wench Who had wedded a gondolier. Then he took him a This son of a gondolier, “And a greasy upholstered gon he poled, On the Grand Canal, my dear. For you know old Venice must be herself, Lest the tourists Which would rob every son of a gun of his pelf— very son of a gondolier. a and a monkey wrench, pole as in days of old, disappear, a SI oS Se a Se oe comicbooks.com Se