Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

RORK AND BEANS. away from his locker?” demands Side- Trap. The sea dog walks over, ejects a stream of tobacco juice against a new- ly-painted ticket-box, and looks as seri- ous as a complete set of smallpox. “ Mates,” he says, “ how’s chances of signing up with this land-lubbering outfit ?” “What’s the matter with the deep- sea stuff?’ I asked. “Prob’bly all wet,” gloops Side- Trap, a born diplomat. This crack goes over the skull of the sailor like the sunshine over Los An- geles. “Salty Rork and his pal are now shifting to the land for a spell,” goes on the mariner. “ We been rocking over the high seas for nigh seven years, come July. Can't you use a good swab guy around this rigging?” “ Shiver my slats!’ remarks the par- rot. “ Gosh,” says Side-Trap, “‘ that peli- can can talk.” “ Just as plain as you,’ admits Salty. “ Thanks,” bowed Side-Trap. “‘ Speaking of Moby Dick,” I says, “how'd you get so far inland?” “Easy,” replies Salty. “I ships aboard a slow-freight out of Seattle, bound for Chicago, but a nosey train lad spots me and heaves me anchor overboard.” “ Well, to put some pepper in a Salty story, I sign up Mr. Rork and Beans to do some “ grinding ”’ in front of the show. In case you think a grinder is a guy who sharpens knives, saws, and lawn-mowers, let it be known that the same is a leather-lunged gent who paces up and down in front of the show, ask- ing the folks without to come within. “ What do I grind?”’ demands Salty, unwise to the trouper’s lingo. “Tust grind ’em in,” explains Side- Trap. “Hell’s bells,’ moans Salty. “I ain’t no auto mechanic. I’m a sailor!’ I give Side-Trap the office to lay off the kidding and explain the gaff. 281 “ Listen, Captain Kidd,” I says. “ All your new porttolio calls for is for you to walk up and down in front of this bally-stand, and do a little barking. You see—” “ Barking?” yelps the lad. “ What d’yer take me for, a St. Bernard?” “You don’t understand the gim- mick,” [ explains. “ A grinder and a barker, in the delightful patois of the outdoor show world, is the same. Now, seeing that you are about to try your luck at the game, I'll give you a few stock sentences to yelp into the ears of the ‘ monkeys.’ ”’ “Monkeys?” demands the Scissor- bill. “I ain’t working in no cage, and you can lay to that!” “Nothing like it,” I says. ‘“‘ The monkeys are nothing more than the towners, or natives; in short, the good folks who cough up the jack to see the show.” : | “Whither away!” says Salty. “ As I was about to remark,” I goes on, “all you'll have to do is to strut up and down, with Beans on your shoulder and say, ‘ Nev-ah out and nev-ah ovah! Once seen nev-ah for- gotten! The sight of a lifetime! Strange, odd and curious pee-pul from all parts of the world!’ D’ye get me? Then, if sucha fortunate thing shouldst happen that the folks begin to jam the box offices, you keep repeating, ‘ One at a time, boys; one ata time!’ That’s all there is, there ain’t any more.” “T can do that from stem to stern,” beams Salty. “‘ What ho, Beans?” “Pipe down, mate,’ says Beans, and so that was all settled. Our next stop was laboring under the name of Stiffs Cafion, and Salty turns out to be a first-class grinder. Of course, I could of got much better lads than him, but the fact that he strutted his stuff with M. Beans on his shoulder was a ballyhoo by itself. Shortly before we closed the date, Salty comes loping up to me, all agog. “Strike me pink!’ he explodes. “What d’yer think?” Gomichbooks (E@)