The Crowing Hens of Totulu

By J. Allan Dunn

Joseph Allan Elphinstone Dunn, best known as J. Allan Dunn, was one of the high-producing writers of the American pulp magazines and an author of over a thousand stories, novels, and serials from 1914–41. His main genres were adventure and western. He also wrote a number of detective stories, most of them appearing in Detective Fiction Weekly and Dime Detective.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Good Press
• Release date: Dec 8, 2020
• ISBN: 4064066423377

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J. Allan Dunn

The Crowing Hens of Totulu

Published by Good Press, 2022

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EAN 4064066423377

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The Crowing Hens of Totulu

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NEVER speak to a woman before twelve o'clock, noon. Follow that rule, Jimmy, my lad, said Riley Hardin, and you'll avoid trouble with the sex. By twelve their blood gets to circulatin’ properly and they forget to be peevish.

Ho, yus, replied Jimmy. That’s a fine hold bit hof a rule, that his. You ’as your dooties on deck, an’ w’en you ain’t got none you can pretend you ’as, an’ she none the wiser. But w’ot price me? My job’s below an’ she knows hit, an’ fair chivvies me hall hover the place till Hi’m barmy. Hi’m sick of hit, Hi tell yer. W’ot did she come haboard for hanyway, that’s w’ot Hi’d like to know? W’ot hif she his the skipper’s missis. Hi’ve got shares hin the ship myself.

She came aboard, Jimmy, my son, replied the first mate," because she preferred the Margaret Ann to jail."

She’ll turn the ship hinter a bloomin’ loonatic asylum hif she keeps hit hup this w’y, wiv me has chief patient. W’ot was she goin’ to get hin jail for? Wimmen’s wrongs what they wants made wimmens’ rights, I suppose?

Well, Jimmy, you know she’s had the sufferaging bug bad for a year. She’s what we call back in the States a limelighter. Wants to stand in the spot all the time and thinks she’s a natural-born leader.

Hi know hall that. W’ot appened to get the coppers hafter ’er.

You were out of town, Jimmy. It was a week before we sailed——

W’ot did she do? ’Eave ’arf a brick hat a bobby?

First, said Hardin, "her limelightin’ got her to start a subscription to place a marble monument above the grave of an English sufferagette that had tried to blow up all the poets’ and dooks’ and warriors’ tombs in Westminster Abbey, but had miscalculated the length of the fuse. That fell flat, owin’ to the lady who was fightin’ her for the leadership of the Sydney Sufferagettes being a sixteenth cousin of the nephew of Nelson, or Byron or some one.

"So then some of ’em got into the gallery at the mayor’s banquet and threw a lot of cheap eggs while the soup was being served. One egg was a chiny one and hit the mayor on the bean, so that his bald head looked as if it was tryin’ to raise eggs on it’s own account. The skipper got the tip that the police knew