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Agenbite of Inwit, whole no. 4, Spring 1944
Page 18
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*************************** Agenbite of Inwit -- Spring, 1944 -- Page Eighteen **************************** ers edged toward the bar in anticipation, as Billiard strode up to Down-East Asimov who was tending. "Gimme a glass o' billiards," said Bok. Asimov looked startled for a second, and his little moustache quivered. "Hurry it up," drawled Long-Ears. "Gents who claim tuh be bartenders get buried right quick if'n they can't fill orders." "Sure," said Asimov, "I got it. Only do yuh want a Chicago or straight billiards?" "Yipe!" cried Bok, leaping ten feet into the air and slapping Asimov on the head with his gun barrell as he came down. "Don't hand me any fancy lingo; I want billiards. Sabe!" "Okay, okay," protested Asimov, holding out his hands and backing away. "I'll draw it fer yuh." Hastily he threw items from behind the bar into the glass, then disappeared into the back room for a moment. "Here you are," he announced, re-entering. Bok drew his peacemaker as he reached for the glass. Casually, he sniffed it, then drained it in a single gulp, as sweat gleamed on Down-East's forehead. A puzzled expression came across his face as he wiped his mouth. "If'n I wasn't an old billiards drinker," he started -- then passed the empty glass to Two-Bit Hahn. "Take a sniff, Two-Bit; I got a cold an' ain't quite sure." Hahn sniffed the glass and shook his head. "Not enough ammonia." "Just what I thought," glowered Bok as he shot Down-East Asimov between the eyes. A shout from the doorway whirled them all around. "Someone's comin'," exulted Rawhide Selikowitz. Breathlessly they waited, as a lanky, tow-headed figure entered. "T-T-Thompson!" roared Two-Bit Hahn. T-T-Thompson looked around him, startledly. "Iye--Iye--" he began. "Grab him!" shouted Hahn. T-T-Thompson "Iy"ed in protest and they took his guns, and prepared him for the rope. "Got anythin' tuh say?" chuckled Long-Ears Martin. "Iy--Iy--Iy" sputtered T-T-Thompson. "Okay, then let 'er go!" With a resounding cheer, they knocked the table out from under him, and T-T-Thompson began kicking air. A medly of whoops and yipees rent the atmosphere as T-T-Thompson's form gradually stopped kicking. "Shucks," said Two-Bit, "didn't last very long. Thought T-T-Thompson was longer-winded than that." "Musta wore hisself out on Cornhole's cows," said Long-Ears. The two of them stood the table under the limp form, and got up to cut it down, when a whoosh was heard, and Long-Ears Martin fell off with an arrow sticking out of his eye. A second whoosh, and Two-Bit Hahn was clawing at his middle. "Injuns!" gasped Rawhide Selikowitz. "Where's Buck Wollheim? Where's our god GhuGhu?" As if in answer to his cry, a voice came in from the street, a powerful voice, filled with annoyance, "Jay, put that bow and arrow down!" A maniacal gurgle replied to the voice, and another whoosh left an arrow pinning Selikowitz' topee to the well, while he stood bald and quivering. "It's Trader Unger," said Heathen Chinee Tucker, quickly slipping his bankroll into a sock, "and his youth hellion." "Oh good heavens," whispered King's English Koenig. "Trader Unger and his bloody brat. Methinks, rather than that bloody little brat, I'd sooner come face to face with Drygulch Doc." (End of Part 3)
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*************************** Agenbite of Inwit -- Spring, 1944 -- Page Eighteen **************************** ers edged toward the bar in anticipation, as Billiard strode up to Down-East Asimov who was tending. "Gimme a glass o' billiards," said Bok. Asimov looked startled for a second, and his little moustache quivered. "Hurry it up," drawled Long-Ears. "Gents who claim tuh be bartenders get buried right quick if'n they can't fill orders." "Sure," said Asimov, "I got it. Only do yuh want a Chicago or straight billiards?" "Yipe!" cried Bok, leaping ten feet into the air and slapping Asimov on the head with his gun barrell as he came down. "Don't hand me any fancy lingo; I want billiards. Sabe!" "Okay, okay," protested Asimov, holding out his hands and backing away. "I'll draw it fer yuh." Hastily he threw items from behind the bar into the glass, then disappeared into the back room for a moment. "Here you are," he announced, re-entering. Bok drew his peacemaker as he reached for the glass. Casually, he sniffed it, then drained it in a single gulp, as sweat gleamed on Down-East's forehead. A puzzled expression came across his face as he wiped his mouth. "If'n I wasn't an old billiards drinker," he started -- then passed the empty glass to Two-Bit Hahn. "Take a sniff, Two-Bit; I got a cold an' ain't quite sure." Hahn sniffed the glass and shook his head. "Not enough ammonia." "Just what I thought," glowered Bok as he shot Down-East Asimov between the eyes. A shout from the doorway whirled them all around. "Someone's comin'," exulted Rawhide Selikowitz. Breathlessly they waited, as a lanky, tow-headed figure entered. "T-T-Thompson!" roared Two-Bit Hahn. T-T-Thompson looked around him, startledly. "Iye--Iye--" he began. "Grab him!" shouted Hahn. T-T-Thompson "Iy"ed in protest and they took his guns, and prepared him for the rope. "Got anythin' tuh say?" chuckled Long-Ears Martin. "Iy--Iy--Iy" sputtered T-T-Thompson. "Okay, then let 'er go!" With a resounding cheer, they knocked the table out from under him, and T-T-Thompson began kicking air. A medly of whoops and yipees rent the atmosphere as T-T-Thompson's form gradually stopped kicking. "Shucks," said Two-Bit, "didn't last very long. Thought T-T-Thompson was longer-winded than that." "Musta wore hisself out on Cornhole's cows," said Long-Ears. The two of them stood the table under the limp form, and got up to cut it down, when a whoosh was heard, and Long-Ears Martin fell off with an arrow sticking out of his eye. A second whoosh, and Two-Bit Hahn was clawing at his middle. "Injuns!" gasped Rawhide Selikowitz. "Where's Buck Wollheim? Where's our god GhuGhu?" As if in answer to his cry, a voice came in from the street, a powerful voice, filled with annoyance, "Jay, put that bow and arrow down!" A maniacal gurgle replied to the voice, and another whoosh left an arrow pinning Selikowitz' topee to the well, while he stood bald and quivering. "It's Trader Unger," said Heathen Chinee Tucker, quickly slipping his bankroll into a sock, "and his youth hellion." "Oh good heavens," whispered King's English Koenig. "Trader Unger and his bloody brat. Methinks, rather than that bloody little brat, I'd sooner come face to face with Drygulch Doc." (End of Part 3)
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