Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

518 ‘“ Any part will do,” I says, “so Jong as you don’t have to use your head.” “Why be a wet blanket?” he whin- nies. “ Because,” I says, “ I can see a load of grief without using any binoculars.” ‘Says you!” he snaps. “‘ Well, all I can see is a load of soft money.” “We might get it,” I says, “if we go to Texas and drill for oil.” Both time and the train flew along, and we finally debarked in the land of Los Angeles. Two-Punch hires a nifty suite of rooms at the Avocado Hotel, and promptly gets down to business. ‘First thing we gotta do,” says he, “is to get a good scenario for my big feature. Of course, I could write one myself, but I don’t want to bother. Wonder where we can dig up a good scenario writer?” The bellhop, who had just entered with some cigarettes, almost drops the tray on the floor. “Excuse me, gents,” he says, “ but if you are looking for a first-class, but unappreciated, scenario writer, I will be glad to show you what I have written.” ‘T'wo-Punch looks the lad over with quite the curiosity. “Who, says my belting beauty, “sive you the idear that you could write anything, except home _ to mother °”’ “Mr. Simpson,” says the lad, “just tell me what kind of story you want and I will look in my files and pluck it out for you.” “How come,” goes on Two-Punch, “that you are delivering kisters, ice water, and cigarettes if you are a good scenario writer?” “T see that you are a stranger in Los Angeles,” says the bellhop. ‘“ Other- wise, you would know that a good writer of scenarios ain’t got no chance to break into the movie trust with an original story, which is the only kind I write. All the studios have pet writers who can’t write for beans, but I think they have something on the boss. | ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “And I will have you know, Mr. Simpson, that I am not a bellhop by. profession; [-am a first-class plumber from Times Square, New York City. “I took a correspondence course in scenario writing and [have graduated with a diploma. Since then I have writ- ten more than four hundred original scenarios, but the big movie trust won’t give me a chance.” “Well,” says Two-Punch, “I am looking fora five-reel feature Western story that is full of action and plenty of plot, and I am willing to pay fifty dollars for it.” : “Tam sorry, Mr. Simpson,” says the neglected genius, “ but I can’t af- ford to sell one of my original scenarios for less than a hundred dollars. You see, [ have everything complete: story, treatment, and continuity. You won’t have to hire anybody to whip it into shape.” “Tf that is the case,” says 'T'wo- Punch, “I will give you sixty dollars for it, in real money.” “ Well,” replies the lad, “ if you will put my name on it as the author, I will make the sacrifice. I have a room on the top floor, and if you will wait five minutes I will rush up stairs and pick you out one of the best Western stories ever written. I also know a girl that can play the part of the heroine, and I will bring her back with me.” “ What’s her name?” demands 'T'wo- Punch. “Bessie Barrow,” retorts the lad, “and she can spot all the movie prima donnas two dimples and still beat them in looks.” “ Does she live in this hotel?’ asks the champ. “She works at the switchbodrd:; but that is just temporary until she can land in the pictures. She won a beauty con- test in Salaam, Iowa, and came out here to try her luck in the fillums. See you all of a sudden!” “Just a minute!” says Two-Punch, as the lad rushed for the door. “ What d’yer use for a name?” ; —— GComicbooks.com — aeding -%