Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four)
Page 406
CHAPTER II
“CURSES!” hissed Alexichsky Grooglegoofgiveimoffaswiftskykickovitchinskytherearovitchsky.
“Curses!” Alexichsky, etc., hissed again even more hissier than before. “This nation of England shall fall or my name is not A’sky Majlmp.” (Giving the correct pronunciation of the name Alexichsky, etc.)
The anarchist, with great stealth, then placed a bomb under a girls’ school.
“There,” he hissed, “that be a defeat to the accursed burgwassol!”*
[* burgwassol: bourgeoisie ]
After going several blocks he stopped with an enraged look in his coat pocket.
“Ten billion imprecations!” he hissed, “I forgot to light the fuse.”
He walked on through London.
Presently the anarchist came to a palatial mansion in the slums which was the clubhouse of all the anarchists in London.
He walked up to the door and rang the old fashioned doorknocker.
“Giff der pass-vord,” hissed a voice from within.
“The wages of sin are a mansion on Riverside Drive,” answered the anarchist. The door swung open and he entered. There were several members of the Anarchist Club in the club room, engaged in anarchist past times, such as swinging ginger-ale, playing marbles for keeps, growing whiskers and cussing the bourgeoisie.
Feeling in a reckless mood, Alexichsky spent a nickel for ginger-ale and offered to bet three cents either way on the next Olympic games. One of the club members, Heinie Von Shtoofe, then made a speech.
“Vass iss?” he began eloquently. “Vot iss der nation goming do evn der cost of hog-iron, I mean pig-iron iss gone up two cents on der vard, alretty yet? Und vot for iss so may Irisher loafers getting chobs ven vhite men like me can’t, yet? I haf meet a Irisher on der street und I say, ‘Get oudt of mine way, you no-good bumf!’ Und look at der black eye vot he giffs me. Dey say dot Irishers is such goot fighters, Bah! Dot makes me tired feel. Vhy, over to Gretchen’s vedding, dot drunken O’Hooligan come in und tried to raise it a rough-house und me und my cousin, Abie, und Ludvig und Hands und four or five others, vhy ve pretty threw dot Irishman right oudt of der house! I vont never go to Ireland.”
The anarchists applauded and then Alexichsky proposed a toast, “Down with everything! Long live Lendnine and Lopesky and hurrah for Russia!”
CHAPTER III. “Brittania Rules the Waves”
AS ALEXICHSKY the anarchist walked down Piccadilly Circus, he glanced about hoping to see a bank that he could rob.
As he came into another street, two men accosted him, one a tall, thin man, and the other a short, stocky man.
“Aha!” said Hawkshaw, for it was he, “Methinks yon unshaven Russian with the cannibalistic face has the guilty look of a first- class criminal.”
The detective stopped Alexichsky, “Wait a moment, my friend, pause while I gaze on your un-handsome visage and ask you a question or three or four.”
“What do you want?” asked Alexichsky, having swiftly selected a fiendish sneer from his extensive collection of mocking smiles, derisive leers, glares, dirty looks, unholy mirth, chuckles, diabolical stares, etc.
“Did you rob the Stacksuhkale bank?” asked Hawkshaw.
“No,” answered Alexichsky.
“Dern it,” said the Colonel, “Baffled again.”
“Hold on,” said Hawkshaw, “My Russian friend, you are under arrest.”
The Russian was seized by policemen and Scotland Yard detectives.
Brittania (sic)rules the waves,” said Mr. Hawkshaw, “another triumph for Scotland Yard.”
He addressed Alexichsky, “I knew you were telling a falsehood because when you denied robbing the bank, you raised an eyebrow and wiggled your toes. Also, I had suspicions of you when you asked the inspector of Scotland Yard if they found a set of burglar’s tools in the Stacksuhkale bank. You said they were yours and if they were found to deliver them to the Anarchist’s Clubhouse. I delivered them myself, disguised as a rear admiral of the Swiss army. Then when I saw the million dollar notes and thrift-stamps in your vest pocket, I took a chance and arrested you.”
“Curses,” cussed Alexichsky.
“The way you robbed the bank was in the following manner,” said Hawkshaw. “You came to the bank, disguised as a king of the South Sea islands. You climbed up the fire escape and down one of the marble pillars of the bank front. Then, having taken an impression of the keyhole with wax, you filed out a key to fit, from a cigar made in Dusseldorf, Germany. Then you entered and robbed the bank. Is that correct?”
“No, the watchman had left the door open and I went up the back steps and walked in,” answered the Russian.
EPILOGUE
The Eskimo floundered through the deep snow and kicked an iceberg out of his way. Reaching his igloo, he unharnessed his team of whales from his sled and entered the igloo.
Snow covered the land, yards deep. Here and there mighty icebergs reared up toward the sky.
For it was mid-summer in northern Alaska.
AFTER THE GAME
First published in The Yellow Jacket (the newspaper of Howard Payne College),
October 27, 1926
ACT I.
SCENE I
City streets. A crowd of students standing on a corner. It is raining.
BERTIE:
Believe me, this is the last time I’ll ever come to this town.
TOMMY:
Applesauce. That’s what you said last year. Wasn’t the game worth it?
BERTIE:
Yeah, but lookit the rain and me with no slicker!
SPIKE:
I’ll say. It’s rained tom cats and chicken’s teeth every time I’ve come to Snako. Say, how about takin’ a slicker offa some of these bozos?
(An old man passes, wearing a slicker.)
JOHNNY:
There’s your chance, Spike.
SPIKE:
Nix, I respect age. Here comes somebody.
(A Jalor student passes. He is six feet three inches and weighs 217 pounds.)
TOMMY:
I respect age, all right, but I respect size a lot more.
ANOTHER STUDENT:
Say, you snake eaters, on your toes, there goes the gong.
JOHNNY:
Hold on, that’s a green light.
JERRY:
Aw, come on. That means go. (He starts across the street.)
TRAFFIC COP:
Hey! What you trying to pull *!*!*!xx* (Censored)
SPIKE:
There’s the right signal.
(They walk down the street.)
BERTIE:
Anyhow, we showed more pep than the Jalor student body. Eh! Johnny?
JOHNNY:
What? Yeah — I — uh — gottasneeze! Ka-choo! (A girl screams and runs in a store, a traffic cop jumps eight feet and reaches for his hip, and the clerks all look out of the stores.)
JERRY:
Say, save them red-blooded, he-man sneezes for the wide open spaces of West Texas. These Easterners ain’t rugged like we are.
Spike, Tommy and Bertie turn off from the rest and enter a cafe.
TOMMY:
Me eye, I ain’t ate nothin’ since supper yesterday, except a hamburger or two, a couple of ham sandwiches, three buns, an apricot tart, two ice-cream sodas, a chocolate malted milk, a couple of chocolate bars, and a sack of peanuts. Come on, I’m broke.
BOTH:
So are we.
TOMMY:
This is a fine crowd.
BERTIE:
Hey, we’ve just got time to catch the train.
TOMMY:
Migosh! I’ve lost my ticket!
EXIT
SCENE II
The train. Tommy is arguing with the conductor.
TOMMY:
But I tell you, I had it. I came over with the crowd from our college to watch the team play Jalor Mares at the Hay Palace. I had my ticket and. . . .
CONDUCTOR:
Aw, tell it to the Marines. I
know it already. Somebody picked your pocket or the naughty ticket got away from you and when last seen was headed east at a high rate of speed. Outside!
STUDENTS:
But we know this fellow.
CONDUCTOR:
Tell it to Sweeny! (Throws Tommy off the train.)
TOMMY:
Thanks for the buggy ride. May your children all have ingrown toenails. (Grabs the rods.)
BRAKEMAN:
Hey, come outa that. (He kicks him off.)
TOMMY:
Say, lay offa me. I’ll have you know I’m a free-born American citizen with rights nobody can trample. Here’s one now!
(Tommy hits brakeman. Brakeman hits Tommy. Tommy hits the ground.)
EXIT
SCENE III
The next night. Bertie seated in his room, before a warm fire. He appears very comfortable and satisfied. Enter Tommy. His clothes are muddy and wrinkled, and his toes are showing through his worn shoes. He wobbles on his feet and otherwise appears somewhat fatigued.
BERTIE:
Come in an’ shut the door. Want to freeze me? Ain’t you got no consideration. Nobody’s seen you in that garb I hope. You look like a tramp.
Tommy gives a ferocious look.
TOMMY:
If I wasn’t so tired I’d poke you in the beezer.
(He flops into a chair.)
BERTIE, idly:
How’d you get in?
TOMMY:
I walked!
BERTIE:
All the way?
TOMMY:
Naw. It was this way. I’d grab every train that came along, then when the conductor would come for my ticket, I’d tell him I’d lost it. They’d kick me off, but I’d be that much further down the line. I did that seven times and made four miles that way. But finally one of ’em stopped the train, ‘stead of throwin’ me off while it was runnin’ like the rest had done.
BERTIE:
That was kind of him.
TOMMY, bloodthirsty:
Yeah, I’ll say so! They stopped in a yap town and had me pinched. They put me in the hoosegow and I’d be there yet only the cop was a Prohibition officer and was so drunk he did not lock the door. Then I walked about twelve miles till I caught a ride on a wagon.
BERTIE:
That shows that there’s always people kind and ready to assist even a hobo. Why didn’t you ride on it?
TOMMY:
Because the bird driving the wagon saw me and kicked me off. Then I walked and walked and walked, and then I walked some more. I got blisters on my feet till it felt like I was walking on watermelons.
BERTIE:
Did it rain all the time?
TOMMY:
Naw, sometimes it sleeted or snowed. The roads were so rotten that I waded three miles down a creek thinking it was a road. I didn’t find my mistake till a farmer came and beat me up for trespassing on private property. Once I got lost and walked seventeen miles in the opposite direction before I found out different. (He waxes eloquent) Gaze on me; a living example of the injustice of the American railroad corporations. I wore out my shoes and swiped these off a sleeping hobo; I lived on standpipe julep* and garbage. My clothes are worn out and I lost the ring for which I paid Woolworth a week’s salary. And they call this a free country!
[* standpipe julep: drainwater. ]
Bertie laughs. He laughs with much gusto.
BERTIE:
Ha! Ha! Haw! Haw! He! He! Say, that’s the best joke I’ve heard of in a long time. Ha! Ha!
TOMMY:
What joke?
BERTIE:
Why, just after the conductor threw you off. I found your ticket in my coat.
CURTAIN
SLEEPING BEAUTY
First published in The Yellow Jacket (the newspaper of Howard Payne College), October 27, 1926
SCENE I
(A special train, a chair car, occupied by students. An upperclassman is attempting to sleep.)
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Things have quieted down and I’ll get a chance for a nap.
(He dozes.)
A CLASS-MATE:
Hey, wake up! All out for Hunkusville!
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Aw, set on a tack. (He dozes.)
(A Freshman begins blowing a horn.)
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Enough is too darned much!
(He chases all the Freshmen out. He dozes.)
SCENE II
(Upperclassman is snoring contentedly. Somebody drops the brasses of the brass drum.)
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Who — what — hey, what time is it?
THE PORTER:
One-thirty, suh.
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Fine. Everybody’s asleep now. Now for a good nap.
(He dozes. The train whistles for a station.)
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Curses!
(He dozes.)
SCENE III
A few minutes later. A flock of girls come through.
GIRLS (supposedly singing):
I gotta gal, her name is Lulu! I love Lulu, I love Lulu, darling!
(Upperclassman jumps seven feet out of seat)
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Ye gods, what next!
GIRLS:
Seventeenth verse, same as the first, I love Lulu — exit.
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Applesauce.
(He dozes.)
SCENE IV
(Upperclassman sleeping. Girls return.)
GIRLS (still singing):
Seven hundredth verse, same as the first, I love Lulu, I love Lulu, darling!
(Upperclassman develops deep and enduring hatred for the name Lulu.)
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Hey, what time is it?
THE PORTER:
Two-thirty, suh.
UPPERCLASSMAN:
How much longer before we pull in?
THE PORTER:
One two hours, suh.
GIRLS:
Here’s a nice place to sit; you don’t mind do you?
(They sing: “Eight hundredth verse, same as the first—”)
UPPERCLASSMAN:
No, I don’t mind.
(Grinds teeth and bites hunks out of chair arm.)
(One hour later.)
GIRLS:
Seven thousandth verse, same as the first, I gotta girl, her name is Lulu, I love Lulu —
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Conductor, is there no chance at all for a train robbery, hold-ups, murders and all that you know?
CONDUCTOR:
No chance at all, sir.
UPPERCLASSMAN:
Darn.
Exeunt.
CURTAIN
WEEKLY SHORT STORY
First published in The Yellow Jacket (the newspaper of Howard Payne College), November 3, 1926
Please note: the spelling errors are intentional.
Miss Zara Goldstein,
By the ghetto,
East Side New York yet.
Zara mein gold;
I having been by college now some weeks yet I thought I would write to find out if you still love me and when is tat loafer brother of yours going to pay me that fifty cents which he owes me yet?
I wouldnt tell you no lie Zara, college is expense something fierce, which all the time its gives donations to ataletics musical entertainments missionaries or vot have you? Ha, a feller come by me which says, “Dough you should give by the missionary fund which is educating the Chinese and the Zulus to wear hose-supporters and play golf and be Rotarians yets.” I says, “How much money would you be satisfied by?” He says, “Anyways a dollar yet.” Oy, Oy, such extravagance, a cheaper missionary they should have. What if the Zulus get educated it goes no money in my pocket yet. Better they could spend some money educating with civilizing these Irish already. You know Zara, it don’t pay none to tell a strange things, so when a big Irishman says to me, “And what moight your name be?” (You know, Zara, these couldnt talk English no m
ore like nothing) I thinks, “None of your business that aint any.” So I says, “I come from the same part of Ireland vot you come from, yet.” And the big loafer pokes me on the nose.
But I am proud of my nationality Zara, I’m American citizen, even if I was born in Czecho-Slavakia, or was it Ukrania or Sweden? I don’t just remember. But confidentially Zara, colletch would be good business if it wasnt so expensive yet. The other day it went by a teacher about the plagues of Egypt yet, which she said, “all of the Egyptian went broke on account of the fles ruining the businesses yet, but there were no fles on the Israelites.” I says, “Nor there aint any now either, yet.”