Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 6, 1923 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

SO THIS ternational relations as nothing more than an elaborate and highly specialized scheme of ward politics, based upon unquestioning service, supported by graft, and rewarding its units therefrom. The saffron journals he read supported this view, the soap-box orations strength- ened it, and its complete reasonableness appealed to his intelligence, which was that of a precocious and observant urchin. Meet Mr. James “ Slapper ” Dunn, if you are not over fussy whom you meet. And that you may at the outset see him as completely as possible, meet him in Porky Phelan’s School of Physical Culture, over Stein’s garage on C Street. He wears only sketchy trunks, gym shoes, soiled eight- ounce mitts, and a tantalizing smile. He is just turned twenty-one, and has been a voter for three years. He strips at a hundred and thirty, has a flat chest and thin, wiry limbs. He is pasty colored, but with that strange vitality of the slum dwell- er who succeeds in weathering infant mor- tality. His features are unmarred, and not unpleasing, hair brown, eyes ditto, teeth sound though stained with nicotine, as are several of his fingers. Properly clad and manicured, and maintaining silence, he would pass as a college sophomore or a bank or hotel clerk or automobile sales- man, or almost anything undistinguished yet respectable. Just at present he is squaring off at Kay- O Dugan, a husky welter nearly as hairy and quite as grouchy as a young gorilla. Whatever he hits, falls down. Porky Phe- ian is trying to make a boxer out of him, and the Slapper is giving him a workout. Observe him closely, and learn how he acquired his moniker. Kay-O moves about flat-footed, hunched up, with outthrust jaw and a look of grim determination. He is always willing to take two wallops to score one. ‘Trouble is, he usually takes more than two, without scoring any. The lighter lad circles him as a_ sub-chaser might dart about a coal barge. He dances on the balls of his feet, his hands moving in and out, the aggravating grin never leav- ing his lips. He ties Kay-O up in knots, and then laughs at him. When the other throws IS WEDLOCK! 821 over a haymaker, he turns his head the merest fraction of an inch, or side-steps, making him miss by a hair. Then he flicks out with open glove, and stings nose or eye. Finally, behold! He brushes Kay-O’s good right lamp, turning in a couple of winkers and making it water. Like a flash, the Slapper shifts over to the blind side, while Kay-O flounders clumsily about, complete- ly off balance. Now! You say: For the finishing punch! For Kay-O is wide open, and blind on one side. And now appears the reason for Dunn’s alias. He doesn’t pack any wallop! He can’t punch, and knows it. While Kay-O carries the deep sleep, but can’t connect. If Dunn had his kick, or Dugan his speed, a new star would twinkle in the fistic firmament. But the Slapper hasn’t; and Kay-O hasn’t. So, that’s that! Here endeth the first lesson; for which Porky Phelan grudgingly slips the Slapper two fish. Merely that we may get to know him a little better, let us follow him for the remainder of the evening in his usual haunts. It is just nine o’clock. The Slapper goes into Jocko’s pool room, pausing to wolf a couple of corned beef sandwiches, a dill pickle and a cup of coffee at the lunch counter before settling down to bottle pool in the rear. An hour later he emerges with his two dollars, and five more. He drifts down the line, and sits into a two-bit game with the chauffeurs in a garage specializing in stolen cars. He deals a nasty hand of poker, but is up against some very good home-made paper to-night, which he fails to detect. At eleven, he rises from the oil can he is sitting on, tosses his half-smoked cigarette into a pile of waste, and strolls out flat broke. Fifteen minutes later he bumps _ into Shadow Rosoff, who deals in case lots bear- ing forged labels. He has just had two hurry-up orders, and as he cannot be in both places at once, he slips the Slapper a sawbuck to deliver two suit cases to a lodge of thirsty brethren. One good thing leads to another; and so, in the clubroom one of the ward heelers recognizes him, and gives him a cryptic message to deliver COMmiclooe (©