Verhovayak Lapja, 1940. július-december (23. évfolyam, 27-52. szám)
1940-09-12 / 37. szám
7 The Lucky Dog By STEPHEN J. ROTZ Branch 430 ■ —~ ■ ■■■■ ........ ■»-» ■ — ------- Homestead, Pa. September i2, 1940_____________________Verhovayak Lapja Page 5 braska is the only state in the Union not having sales tax. Because of this fact, several large business houses have made moves to settle in Nebraska. Not only the fact that there is no sales tax, but also because of the central location, roads, railroads and airline connections, new industries are looking toward Nebraska. Remember Nebraska’s central location the next time you journey, and stop in and enjoy our hospitality. Be sure to look out for the cars, trains and buses, and forget all about buffalo, Indians and covered wagons. (Statistics from Funk & Wagnalls—New Standard Encyclopedia.)--------------------O-------------------VERHOVAY OVERSEAS CLUB In the driver’s seat of the big black sedan, Dusty Rhodes, cap pulled low over his eyes, sat puffing nervously on a cigaret. The smoke from the cigaret rose to the roof and snaked lazily out the half-opened window. Dusty threw the half-consumed butt out into the street. He coughed, rubbed his thin, sweaty palms together, and gripped the bakelité steering wheel until his bony knuckles showed white. The powerful motor, humming siftly at idling speed, made the allsteel, bullet-proof car vibrate faintly. Dusty flashed a look into the mirror above him. Chopper Winters was thoroughly at ease in the back seat, calmly reading a serial story in the afternoon edition of the city paper, and flicking cigaret ashes out the open window. Dusty grinned crookedly to himself as his eyes fell to the doorway with a huge glass lamp-shade above it. half-way down the block. “These choppers,” he muttered under his breath, “sure take the prize, readin’ one minute, an’ killin’ guys the next.” He knew that under the pile of papers in the nerveless killer’s lap was a Thompson sub-machine gun, and baby, could those things do damage! “Say, Chopper,” Dusty called to his companion. Paper rattled in the back seat. “Whadjawant?” came the growl. With his blood-shot eyes focused steadily on the doorway, Dusty went on, talking from the side of his mouth: “What time did Tony say these mugs was gonna come out?” “He didn’t say. What d’yuh think he is—a mind reader? He sez to stay here ’til they do come out. An’ lissen,”—the words became brittle—“you drive this buggy fast as hell when the job is over, see?” “Don’t worry about me,” Dusty growled. Where did Chopper get the crust anyway? Wasn’t he, Dusty, conceded to be the best driver around here? Let Chopper tend to his killings, and he’d see that they got away. From th# series of metallic clicks from the rear, Dusty figured that Chopper was examining his deadly weapon. That morning, in the back room at Tony’s pool room, Tony had told them: “Now when you boys go out on this job, I want you to get these guys. The Wop told me that they’d be in to talk to Sammy Wienstien at that address. “All you have to do,” he had continued, his dark, oily face quivering with all its fat, “is to wait until they come out, then give them the works. Nothin’ to it at all.” Dusty cackled. “Nothing to it is right,” he laughed, “and I get five hundred bucks for this. Oh man!” He struck a match and held it to the smooth white cylinder between his colorless lips. He inhaled deeply; exhaled a steady stream of blue mist through pursed lips. For a few minutes he smoked quietly. Then, he moved uneasily, impatiently. “Tired o’ waitin’, Dusty?” inquired Chopper from the rear. “Yeah. Cripes, when are those two mugs gonna show up? I don’t want to sit here all night.” Chopper laughed. “What d’you care? You’re gettin' money for it, ain’tcha?” Dusty’s voice dripped with worry. “Say,” he cried, “suppose they were tipped off. Mebbe they went out the back somehow.” “Don’t be a sap! How could they? Nobody knows we’re here, but us.” The cigaret made a graceful arc as Dusty shot it out the window. “They may come any minute then. You ready?” “Sure.” Dusty searched his pockets for a cigaret. “Damn!” he exclaimed. “You got any cigarets, Chopper? I’m—” He broke off abruptly. Two men had stepped furtively from the doorway which Dusty had been watching. They looked around quickly and swung toward a sedan parked further down the street. Dusty swore softly. He had to reach the two men before they could gain the protection of their car. Swiftly, without any loss of motion, he swung the car away from the curb and sent it roaring down the avenue. “Get ’em, Chopper,” he cried shrilly. He watched the two men. One of them turned around at the sound of the approaching car. Dusty could see the man narrowly study the sleek black sedan; then, at sight of the grinning Chopper leaning from a rear window with his weapon, alarm spread over his face, and he tugged at his companion. He, too, spun around. The faces of both men were full of terror as they recognized their danger. Dusty’s mouth twisted into a terrible grin. With a deft jerk at the wheel he pulled the car, filled with potential death, close to the curb, and took his foot off the accelerator. The car responded; slowed down. One of the doomed men leaped toward a doorway. Poor sap, Dusty thought, he wouldn’t have a chance. The other fell, screaming, to his knees and held his hands before his eyes. Expecting, at any moment now, to hear the staccato crashing of lead from the back seat, Dusty’s thin bodysteeled; became as tense as a strung piano wire. “Now, Chopper,” he called out above the noisy motor. “Now!” In the rear-view mirror, he saw Chopper huddled over the gun which was thrust out the open window. He whipped his eyes to the front. But there wasn’t a sound from the rear! Why didn’t Chopper shoot? Then, suddenly, the car flashed past the two men. It was too late! “What the hell!” gasped Dusty. He jammed his foot down on the gas. The car careened down the street. Pedestrians turned to gape at the sedan. Dusty stifled an impulse to whirl about to look at Chopper. He cursed. What was the matter with the guy, anyway? Would Tony be sore! Like one possessed by the demon, but with consummate skill, Dusty drove the car around corners on two wheels. After several blocks of twisting and turning, which took all of his attention, he drove into an old, cluttered alley. “Now what?” He turned to look at Chopper sitting quietly in a corner after they had pulled to a stop. “Why didn’t you shoot?” Chopper smiled weakly. Dusty would have sworn that the man was embarrassed. “I—I couldn’t help it,” he stuttered, squirming uncomfortably. “Yeah,” Dusty insisted. “But why? Why couldn’t yuh shoot?” Chopper was wringing his hands. He resembled a youngster caught stealing jam. “Didn’t yuh see the dog in the window of the pet Store?” he blurted out. “It was right in the line of fire!” Dusty gaped at Chopper for about sixty seconds. As though in a daze, he turned NEBRASKA TODAY! By Andrew C. Simcho To the readers of this article whose illusion it is that there are buffalo, wild Indian and cattle rustlers in Nebraska, I apologize. There are no buffalo, wild Indian or cattle rustlers No longer does the “redman,” seeking to regain lost lands and supremacy, ride the plains: ravaging, plundering and scalping. Gone forever is the once common sight of thousands of buffalo browsing on the buffalo grass. True, Omaha zoos support a few buffalo, Indians are still living on reservations, and cattle are being stolen. Taking the place of “Judge Colt” is a modern radio and car equipped police force. Instead of “hazing” the cattle along, they are loaded into trucks and shipped to the nearest railroad. Speed and efficiency is the word today. Replacing the thrilling tales told in western story magazines, tourists find that Nebraska, one of the truly independent states, is a place of business, not a setting for romantic stories. Nebraska raw products are turned into finished merchandise by Nebraska factories. One of the leading railroad centers, “The Cornhusker State” is located, geographically, in the center of The United States. Thousands of trucks converge on Omaha, Nebraska, bringing in livestock and grain. The huge livestock market, located in South Omaha, ranks among the three busiest in the world. The grain pit is also a scene of daily beehive activity. In one year alone, Nebraska produced enough corn to give 2 bushels to each man, woman and . child in The United States. Just a memory is the picture of Nebraskans “toting” their shooting irons with them continuously, illiterate, uncouth and just a shade removed from barbarism. Today, Nebraska has an illiteracy percentage of 1.2, comparing very favorably with any state in the Union. Students from Europe, China, Hawaii, the Phillipine Islands and from every state in the Union congregate at Creighton University, a world famous medical school. The advertising slogan, “The White Spot of the Nation,” indicates that Neslowly about and drove the car into the street. He muttered something about “queer guys” under his breath. A gala time was had by members and friends of the Verhovay Overseas Club on Sunday, September 8, at the Kurjak-Bacso farm, located on the outskirts of Butler, Pennsylvania. A caravan of fifteen automobiles transported the meny group of approximately eighty people to the picnic grounds. A real old-fashioned picnic was held, with round and square dancing, waltzing and the csárdás. Music was furnished by a one man band, Frank Bacsó; also a portable radio and victrola. During the afternoon a mushball game was held, with both girls and boys taking part. A typical day on the farm, with the usual bacon fry and huge bonfire, marked the closing of a perfect day. Despite the fact that rain marred the day’s festivities, the group had an enjoyable time. Attending the affair were John Fulop, District Organizer of the Verhovay, and family; Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Nemeth, who were the chaperons, and family; the Kurjak and Bacsó families; Mrs. Kalman J. Erdeky, Sr. and family; Mr. and Mrs. John Simonyak; Albert Jozik; and a host of young people. The next affair to be sponsored by the Overseas Club is a super-Hungarian dance, to be held in the early fall. Plans are already under way to make it the talk of the Pittsburgh district. It is with great pride that the Verhovay Overseas Club cnnounces the organization of another club in the Detroit district. Miss Marie Gallovich of Detroit, Michigan, overseas winner of 1938 and 1939, will be in charge of the organization work. Lots of success, Detroit! ■■■■I
