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Amateur Correspondent, v. 2, issue 2, September-October 1937
Page 4
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The Mysterious Stranger Unique Fantasy By Earl and Otto Binder JOHN SELBY looked at the speaker in surprise. "What is that you say?" "I say, good sir," repeated the stranger with a nasal twang, "I am sore puzzled---bewitched, I fear---and know not where I am or what strange thing has befallen me. If I may trouble you to tell me where I am-----" "No trouble at all," assured Selby heartily at the apologetic tone of the stranger. "This is Dakin Street, 58 nundred west, Chicago. City limits are two blocks west." "Dakin street? Chicago?" mumbled the other blankly. Seeing him hesitate as though still bewildered, Selby went on with friendlier tones: "If you are looking for some particular family around here, perhaps I know them. Have you their address?" "Nay, I know no family hereabouts; unless it be the Fairfaxes." "Never heard of them," returned Selby, shaking his head. "And you don't know the address?" "Address" repeated the stranger. "Why, there would be no need of an address if this be Wilkshire. The Fairfaxes are known to all." Selby edged away from the man. There was something decidedly queer about him---his voice, his manner, his very words. It was dark, and he could not see the man's face clearly. A chill autumn wind whipped about them suddenly; the stranger shivered and pulled a sort of flappy coat about his thin shoulders. "I'm sorry I can't help you," said Selby, turning to go. "Please, I beg of you!" the stranger's voice pleaded. "Well?" asked Selby gruffly. He was becoming impatient. "What do you want?" The man must be a panhandler with a new line. The stranger's next words confirmed his belief. "Do not desert me," pleaded the man. "Truly I am sadly bewitched, and I am cold and hungry. I---I-----" John Selby had a warm heart, and something in the fellow's tone touched a soft spot. "Come along, then, to my place. You can have a hot meal and a warm chair for a few hours. I could 'stake' you and let you go, but I know you'd spend it for booze. Rather than have my money go for such waste, I'll take the trouble-----" He turned with a jerk of his head. The stranger followed meekly, and for a few moments they walked silently along the street. As the glare of a street light drew near, Selby surreptitiously surveyed the panhandler. If he had been surprised at the queer dialect the fellow used and his equally queer real or feigned ignorance of his whereabouts, Selby was actually astounded at the clothes the man wore. Collectively they might be called a costume, consisting of skin-tight trousers, heavy riding boots, a waist coat with frills of lace and ribbon, a fluttery cape that hung from the shoulder blades, and a three-cornered hat. Selby whistled to himself; the fellow must have raided a costume shop! The house Selby lived in, a brick bungalow, was dark. His sister, her 4
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The Mysterious Stranger Unique Fantasy By Earl and Otto Binder JOHN SELBY looked at the speaker in surprise. "What is that you say?" "I say, good sir," repeated the stranger with a nasal twang, "I am sore puzzled---bewitched, I fear---and know not where I am or what strange thing has befallen me. If I may trouble you to tell me where I am-----" "No trouble at all," assured Selby heartily at the apologetic tone of the stranger. "This is Dakin Street, 58 nundred west, Chicago. City limits are two blocks west." "Dakin street? Chicago?" mumbled the other blankly. Seeing him hesitate as though still bewildered, Selby went on with friendlier tones: "If you are looking for some particular family around here, perhaps I know them. Have you their address?" "Nay, I know no family hereabouts; unless it be the Fairfaxes." "Never heard of them," returned Selby, shaking his head. "And you don't know the address?" "Address" repeated the stranger. "Why, there would be no need of an address if this be Wilkshire. The Fairfaxes are known to all." Selby edged away from the man. There was something decidedly queer about him---his voice, his manner, his very words. It was dark, and he could not see the man's face clearly. A chill autumn wind whipped about them suddenly; the stranger shivered and pulled a sort of flappy coat about his thin shoulders. "I'm sorry I can't help you," said Selby, turning to go. "Please, I beg of you!" the stranger's voice pleaded. "Well?" asked Selby gruffly. He was becoming impatient. "What do you want?" The man must be a panhandler with a new line. The stranger's next words confirmed his belief. "Do not desert me," pleaded the man. "Truly I am sadly bewitched, and I am cold and hungry. I---I-----" John Selby had a warm heart, and something in the fellow's tone touched a soft spot. "Come along, then, to my place. You can have a hot meal and a warm chair for a few hours. I could 'stake' you and let you go, but I know you'd spend it for booze. Rather than have my money go for such waste, I'll take the trouble-----" He turned with a jerk of his head. The stranger followed meekly, and for a few moments they walked silently along the street. As the glare of a street light drew near, Selby surreptitiously surveyed the panhandler. If he had been surprised at the queer dialect the fellow used and his equally queer real or feigned ignorance of his whereabouts, Selby was actually astounded at the clothes the man wore. Collectively they might be called a costume, consisting of skin-tight trousers, heavy riding boots, a waist coat with frills of lace and ribbon, a fluttery cape that hung from the shoulder blades, and a three-cornered hat. Selby whistled to himself; the fellow must have raided a costume shop! The house Selby lived in, a brick bungalow, was dark. His sister, her 4
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