CHAPTER IJolt For Jerry
Any wise mutt calling me Baby Face is going to get a sock in the puss that’ll land him in 4F.
The name’s Jerry Cassidy, sergeant, U. S. Marines. I tip the scale at two hundred even, and I look a lot more like Wallace Beery than Baby Sandy. I do now, anyway. There was a time, though, when this didn’t hold true.
But if any lug feels like bringing that up, he’d better have knuckle-dusters handy. If Doc McKenney wasn’t such a nice old man, I’d break his neck for landing me in that jam. Transference of egos, bah!
The way it happened sounds mighty strange.
I am a big, good-natured looking feller, so I suppose the Captain’s wife figured it’d be safe to leave “Stinky” Dawson with me. I ran into Mrs. Dawson on Park, as I was coming out of Grand Central. She’s a cute lit
