Transcribe
Translate
Spaceways, v. 4, issue 6, whole no. 29, 1942
Page 5
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
SPACEWAYS IF I WEREWOLF and asked if they were all right, and all I heard was 'Chugarum. Chugarum.'" The collective mental wail of anguish reached Superman. He increased his speed several fold, and put up a tight-held mind shield as a guard against their recriminations. Washington was reached just before daybreak. Teh trailer swooped to a gentle landing before 6323 Western, N. W. Speer came running from his second-story room, wailing in six and three-quarter languages. "Elmer, you dope!" he shouted. "Himmelherrdonnenausgewissen traussentigeinzweidreifunfundtausendverbortzig!" PART VI by HARRY JENKINS, JR. The flying carpet grated to a stop, the air brakes on the trailer snapping it to a halt. Superman Perdue stood on the edge of the carpet, chest out-thrust and long hair flowing in the breeze. "Do you know who you're talking to?" Elmer said, slapping himself on the chest. He coughed twice, smiled weakly at his menagerie and stepped into Juffus' hide-out. Great, monstrous, soot-blackened machinery filled the small room. There were twisting tubes, large spheres, triangular-shaped things that gleamed—all leading to one very small, insignificant little spigot. "Hsst, Elmer," Speer called, gesturing to Superman to come behind an edge of the mass of machinery. "What," Eomer said, "in all Foo does that damned thing do?" He indicted the machinery with a grandiloquent flourish. Speer looked hurt. "Well, boiling it down to one word—nothing." "Nothing!" "Nope. Just wanted to scare the hell outa everybody until I could perfect something to bring those nice, kind, gentle, sane fans back from their ghastly, awful, horrible were-forms." Superman sneered. "Speer, you stink." He whirled, twirled his cape around his huge shoulders, and jumped lightly back to the carpet—falling flat on his face and threatening to shake the carpet, and trailer, to pieces. "Hey, Elmer," a raucous voice yelled from the trailer. "What about the fish bowl?" Two bats flew out of the trailer window, followed by a huge eagle, and swooped through the window of Speer's room. There was a high, screeching sound such as a dive-bomber makes in a dive, that steadily mounted, then dropped. A horrible shriek that was Speer followed the eagle, holding the fish bowl between his talons, and the bats through the open window. "Cuss yuh," Speer yelled, and blamped again with his Buck Rogers pistol. The flying carpet sputtered, coughed and juggled off as the bats and the eagle returned to the trailer. The aard-vark stuck its head out of the window as a blue puff of smoke came from Speer's gun. "I'll bet you don't hit 'em," it said. The wildcat went into gales of laughter, twisting over and over, flinging itself at the chandelier, groping wildly at it, and falling to the floor—still laughing. While Elmer was busily guiding the strange craft through the air, sitting majestically on the vari-hued carpet, arms folded and shivering because of the cold, Lowndes and Widner were busy in the rear. Widner's furry wildcat grasped two African dynamos—mechanized dominoes—dice to you—and shook them suggestively. The first bat's eyes lighted with a wild fire. The chimpanzee shook its
Saving...
prev
next
SPACEWAYS IF I WEREWOLF and asked if they were all right, and all I heard was 'Chugarum. Chugarum.'" The collective mental wail of anguish reached Superman. He increased his speed several fold, and put up a tight-held mind shield as a guard against their recriminations. Washington was reached just before daybreak. Teh trailer swooped to a gentle landing before 6323 Western, N. W. Speer came running from his second-story room, wailing in six and three-quarter languages. "Elmer, you dope!" he shouted. "Himmelherrdonnenausgewissen traussentigeinzweidreifunfundtausendverbortzig!" PART VI by HARRY JENKINS, JR. The flying carpet grated to a stop, the air brakes on the trailer snapping it to a halt. Superman Perdue stood on the edge of the carpet, chest out-thrust and long hair flowing in the breeze. "Do you know who you're talking to?" Elmer said, slapping himself on the chest. He coughed twice, smiled weakly at his menagerie and stepped into Juffus' hide-out. Great, monstrous, soot-blackened machinery filled the small room. There were twisting tubes, large spheres, triangular-shaped things that gleamed—all leading to one very small, insignificant little spigot. "Hsst, Elmer," Speer called, gesturing to Superman to come behind an edge of the mass of machinery. "What," Eomer said, "in all Foo does that damned thing do?" He indicted the machinery with a grandiloquent flourish. Speer looked hurt. "Well, boiling it down to one word—nothing." "Nothing!" "Nope. Just wanted to scare the hell outa everybody until I could perfect something to bring those nice, kind, gentle, sane fans back from their ghastly, awful, horrible were-forms." Superman sneered. "Speer, you stink." He whirled, twirled his cape around his huge shoulders, and jumped lightly back to the carpet—falling flat on his face and threatening to shake the carpet, and trailer, to pieces. "Hey, Elmer," a raucous voice yelled from the trailer. "What about the fish bowl?" Two bats flew out of the trailer window, followed by a huge eagle, and swooped through the window of Speer's room. There was a high, screeching sound such as a dive-bomber makes in a dive, that steadily mounted, then dropped. A horrible shriek that was Speer followed the eagle, holding the fish bowl between his talons, and the bats through the open window. "Cuss yuh," Speer yelled, and blamped again with his Buck Rogers pistol. The flying carpet sputtered, coughed and juggled off as the bats and the eagle returned to the trailer. The aard-vark stuck its head out of the window as a blue puff of smoke came from Speer's gun. "I'll bet you don't hit 'em," it said. The wildcat went into gales of laughter, twisting over and over, flinging itself at the chandelier, groping wildly at it, and falling to the floor—still laughing. While Elmer was busily guiding the strange craft through the air, sitting majestically on the vari-hued carpet, arms folded and shivering because of the cold, Lowndes and Widner were busy in the rear. Widner's furry wildcat grasped two African dynamos—mechanized dominoes—dice to you—and shook them suggestively. The first bat's eyes lighted with a wild fire. The chimpanzee shook its
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar
