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The Science Fiction Fan, v. 4, issue 10, whole no. 46, May 1940
Page 9
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FAN ..............................................................................9 places, as though it has been in many battles. The scars, however, seemed to be curiously even of pattern. "They're not scars", said Morden -- grinning at me and showing his broken yellow teeth-- "and this isn't a rat. Not one rat, that is ... but many! Five to be exact. Five dead ones!" "Do you mean---" "Yes," he said, "I mean, My experiment has at last borne fruit. Last week this creature was five others--dead of unnatural causes, like cats and rat-traps and poisoned cheese. I have created life! "Life," he repeated, learning at me: "life!" "That's wonderful," I said, suppressing a shudder and looking around for the door. "I suppose you'll write it up for the Medical Journal?" "Do you think I'm a fool? Do you think I'm going to give my secret to the world? Do you think I'm content to rest [underlined] now?" "What do you mean?" I asked, knowing only too well what he meant. "'What do you mean?'" he mimicked, breathing all over my Adam's apple (he was a little man). "I'm going on! I'm going to make man!" [Centered] --- That was last May. In October -- Morden was a slow, careful worker--a detective named Murphy called on the dean and demanded to know
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FAN ..............................................................................9 places, as though it has been in many battles. The scars, however, seemed to be curiously even of pattern. "They're not scars", said Morden -- grinning at me and showing his broken yellow teeth-- "and this isn't a rat. Not one rat, that is ... but many! Five to be exact. Five dead ones!" "Do you mean---" "Yes," he said, "I mean, My experiment has at last borne fruit. Last week this creature was five others--dead of unnatural causes, like cats and rat-traps and poisoned cheese. I have created life! "Life," he repeated, learning at me: "life!" "That's wonderful," I said, suppressing a shudder and looking around for the door. "I suppose you'll write it up for the Medical Journal?" "Do you think I'm a fool? Do you think I'm going to give my secret to the world? Do you think I'm content to rest [underlined] now?" "What do you mean?" I asked, knowing only too well what he meant. "'What do you mean?'" he mimicked, breathing all over my Adam's apple (he was a little man). "I'm going on! I'm going to make man!" [Centered] --- That was last May. In October -- Morden was a slow, careful worker--a detective named Murphy called on the dean and demanded to know
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