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Spaceways, v. 4, issue 6, whole no. 29, 1942
Page 4
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4 SPACEWAYS IF I WEREWOLF "Why, nothing. Speer got the plans from somewhere for a small machine that'll make them human again, and wanted me to send them to him so's he could try it out. So I used his incantation to produce a green ray—Washington's too far off for him, you see—and forwarded the lad and lassies. That must have been hours and hours ago." Aard-vark Ackerman curled his whiskers into a ball. "Green? Goodness, the ray was as red as. . . as the tip of your little old nose." "Oh oh. But then Speer never could tell colours, anyway. So maybe it doesn't matter after all. Do I know everybody?" "Don't be foolish, Elmer. We've no time for it." "But it does matter!" came D. B.'s logical, incisive chatter. "Red and green are complementary colors. And if green was a step toward making them human, then red must—make the were-change permanent?" "Trudy a frog forever!" wailed the cobra with a hiss. "Who's that?" "Gilbert," the black stallion said. "Gilbert—Perdue. Perdue—Gilbert." "Oh," said Elmer, diddling on the keys. "Stop that!" Chairman Widner said. "It is later than you think. Join us." And lowndes. "Yes. Help right the wrong." And Daugherty took the Cwael Darth from hiser pouch and held it out to Elmer. "Yes, yes, little black stone. Little Cwael Darth with the eight little old runes on the eight little old faces. And what shall it be? Slan? Doc Savage? Doctor Fate or the Spectre or the Flash—that'd be nice—and wouldn't one of the Ezwals from Carson's s Planet be beautiful?" He took the rhombohedron. "Little stone, little stone, make me Superman!" Gilbert looked as disgusted as only a snake can. Elmer spelled out a chord with his fingers. "Let's go, gang. He won't be any help, sitting up there with his red cloak and blue tights." Superman struck the chord. The piano quietly collapsed in his lap. "'Sfunny. That never happened before. ...Kussie and Myrt! I must see Juffus!" And he crashed out through the wall. Fanny popped out of the kitchen, shouting. "Mistah Elmer! You come right back here!" "Why, what's the matter, Fanny?" said a head that poked itself through a virgin spot in the wall. "You know what's the mattah. That hole's gonna be damn expensive, you , ; ; — , !" "Something's wrong. Superman never pays for the damage he causes. Tell her to bill Siegel and Schuster, will you, Doc?" And he gathered up were-staillion Hart and were-Widner in his arms and streaked away. "The Were-Fans must stick together," thought steady Thompson to the rest. "And anyway, it'll be good practice for visiting Palmer." Dau hopped forward and shoved two hundred pounds of Fanny into the kitchen, while Gilbert hissed: "Fanny Bell! Drunk again!" "C/mon kiddikins," came a shout from outdoors. And the reasonably motley aggregation tumbled through the doorway to find a trailer waiting. "All aboard!" Widner said. "Enter the magic carpet, and heigh-ho off and away to Washington-by-the Potomac!" Off they flew, the trailer a tail for Superman's comet. "I hear Chauvenet!" Widner cried. "Dip down, James, The poor bird must be tired by now." "And Bok's with him," bat-Doc amended. Chauvenet flopped warily through the open door. Widner purred his satisfaction, and wished that somebody were human, and had legs he could rub against. "What happened to them, Russell?" "We tried. That was all we could do. It's still heading East in a straight line like Dick Seaton's steam-bath." "And no X-metal? Most x-cruciating." Who but Ackerman? "X-cruciating ditto." It was Bok, scaled sides heaving, four-toed feet stretching and contracting. "Darnedest thing. I almost caught up with them
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4 SPACEWAYS IF I WEREWOLF "Why, nothing. Speer got the plans from somewhere for a small machine that'll make them human again, and wanted me to send them to him so's he could try it out. So I used his incantation to produce a green ray—Washington's too far off for him, you see—and forwarded the lad and lassies. That must have been hours and hours ago." Aard-vark Ackerman curled his whiskers into a ball. "Green? Goodness, the ray was as red as. . . as the tip of your little old nose." "Oh oh. But then Speer never could tell colours, anyway. So maybe it doesn't matter after all. Do I know everybody?" "Don't be foolish, Elmer. We've no time for it." "But it does matter!" came D. B.'s logical, incisive chatter. "Red and green are complementary colors. And if green was a step toward making them human, then red must—make the were-change permanent?" "Trudy a frog forever!" wailed the cobra with a hiss. "Who's that?" "Gilbert," the black stallion said. "Gilbert—Perdue. Perdue—Gilbert." "Oh," said Elmer, diddling on the keys. "Stop that!" Chairman Widner said. "It is later than you think. Join us." And lowndes. "Yes. Help right the wrong." And Daugherty took the Cwael Darth from hiser pouch and held it out to Elmer. "Yes, yes, little black stone. Little Cwael Darth with the eight little old runes on the eight little old faces. And what shall it be? Slan? Doc Savage? Doctor Fate or the Spectre or the Flash—that'd be nice—and wouldn't one of the Ezwals from Carson's s Planet be beautiful?" He took the rhombohedron. "Little stone, little stone, make me Superman!" Gilbert looked as disgusted as only a snake can. Elmer spelled out a chord with his fingers. "Let's go, gang. He won't be any help, sitting up there with his red cloak and blue tights." Superman struck the chord. The piano quietly collapsed in his lap. "'Sfunny. That never happened before. ...Kussie and Myrt! I must see Juffus!" And he crashed out through the wall. Fanny popped out of the kitchen, shouting. "Mistah Elmer! You come right back here!" "Why, what's the matter, Fanny?" said a head that poked itself through a virgin spot in the wall. "You know what's the mattah. That hole's gonna be damn expensive, you , ; ; — , !" "Something's wrong. Superman never pays for the damage he causes. Tell her to bill Siegel and Schuster, will you, Doc?" And he gathered up were-staillion Hart and were-Widner in his arms and streaked away. "The Were-Fans must stick together," thought steady Thompson to the rest. "And anyway, it'll be good practice for visiting Palmer." Dau hopped forward and shoved two hundred pounds of Fanny into the kitchen, while Gilbert hissed: "Fanny Bell! Drunk again!" "C/mon kiddikins," came a shout from outdoors. And the reasonably motley aggregation tumbled through the doorway to find a trailer waiting. "All aboard!" Widner said. "Enter the magic carpet, and heigh-ho off and away to Washington-by-the Potomac!" Off they flew, the trailer a tail for Superman's comet. "I hear Chauvenet!" Widner cried. "Dip down, James, The poor bird must be tired by now." "And Bok's with him," bat-Doc amended. Chauvenet flopped warily through the open door. Widner purred his satisfaction, and wished that somebody were human, and had legs he could rub against. "What happened to them, Russell?" "We tried. That was all we could do. It's still heading East in a straight line like Dick Seaton's steam-bath." "And no X-metal? Most x-cruciating." Who but Ackerman? "X-cruciating ditto." It was Bok, scaled sides heaving, four-toed feet stretching and contracting. "Darnedest thing. I almost caught up with them
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