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Banshee, whole no. 5, June 1944
Page 7
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he'd been living off his folks long enough. In this port-war world, jobs, he had found, were not easy to secure. And science fiction help a deep fascination for him. Gee.... "When do I start?" "Good. Hey, Joe, he bit-whoops! forgot to put my hand over the mouthpiece. Hah-hah, Mr. Spingtumper, I must have my little joke! Ho-ho! Please be down at our offices by nine-o'-clock this morning, ready to begin work. Good-bue." "Hey--" The line was dead. * * * After eating a tiny snack of breakfast, heart pounding furiously, stomach oddly hollow-feeling, John waved good-bye to the folks and took a street-car into the city. There he hunted up the offices of Star Publications. These were located in a rundown little four-story building perhaps 100 years old. There were no elevators, and John hoofed it to the fourth floor. After a little confused wandering through snaky corridors, John came to a door whose frosted glass pane stated: STAR PUBLICATIONS INC.; Quality Magazines. Under this were grouped several magazine-titles: GRIMY DETECTIVE, RED-HOT LOVE, SOMBRERO WESTERN, ALL-ADVENTURE WEEKLY, and (the pint still sticky, as John discovered) CRAZY STORIES. Taking a deep breath, John entered. A little old lady was regarding him through dirty horn-rimmed spectables. She was seated in a straight-backed chair behing a dusty desk with a little sign on it: Miss O'Gillykuddy. "Well?" she inquired testily in a cracked voice. "My--my name is Spingtumper-- " John found he could go no further. Excitement had the better of him. "That's no fault of mine," Miss O'Gillikuddy remarked shrewdly and broke into hoarse laughter. "I--I was told to see Mr. Underheld about editing CRAZY STORIES." The little old lady quieted down at that and peered at him through her spectacles with a perturbed gleam that made him squirm. "Oh," she said and was silent a moment. "CRAZY STORIES, eh? Oh, well, I suppose you need the job. Just walk right into his office. It's staring you right in the face." So it was. John moved toward it, a little upset by Miss O'Gillikuddy's odd attitude. He tapped on the door, and, no reply forthcoming, tapped again. "COME IN!" a tremendous voice roared. nearly bowling John over. "DON'T STAND AT ATTENTION! COME IN! THINK MY TIME'S WORTH NOTHING?" John practically fell in. Underheld was a big, paunchy man; he was standing before a dirty window, looking out with his back toward John. "YOU THE CRAZY MAN?" his voice thundered. "Well," John considerred. "In a way." "AH." the great man boomed. "I WISH A WORD WITH YOU BEFORE YOU TAKE OVER YOUR DUTIES. SIT DOWN!" John looked around for a chair, found one, and sat down. When he looked up from the process, he found that Mr. Underheld had turned, and was regarding him with tiny, deeply set eyes. His drooping lips twitched a little under his hooked nose. "NOW, MY BOY," he said deafeningly. "FIRST OF ALL, WHAT SORT OF
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he'd been living off his folks long enough. In this port-war world, jobs, he had found, were not easy to secure. And science fiction help a deep fascination for him. Gee.... "When do I start?" "Good. Hey, Joe, he bit-whoops! forgot to put my hand over the mouthpiece. Hah-hah, Mr. Spingtumper, I must have my little joke! Ho-ho! Please be down at our offices by nine-o'-clock this morning, ready to begin work. Good-bue." "Hey--" The line was dead. * * * After eating a tiny snack of breakfast, heart pounding furiously, stomach oddly hollow-feeling, John waved good-bye to the folks and took a street-car into the city. There he hunted up the offices of Star Publications. These were located in a rundown little four-story building perhaps 100 years old. There were no elevators, and John hoofed it to the fourth floor. After a little confused wandering through snaky corridors, John came to a door whose frosted glass pane stated: STAR PUBLICATIONS INC.; Quality Magazines. Under this were grouped several magazine-titles: GRIMY DETECTIVE, RED-HOT LOVE, SOMBRERO WESTERN, ALL-ADVENTURE WEEKLY, and (the pint still sticky, as John discovered) CRAZY STORIES. Taking a deep breath, John entered. A little old lady was regarding him through dirty horn-rimmed spectables. She was seated in a straight-backed chair behing a dusty desk with a little sign on it: Miss O'Gillykuddy. "Well?" she inquired testily in a cracked voice. "My--my name is Spingtumper-- " John found he could go no further. Excitement had the better of him. "That's no fault of mine," Miss O'Gillikuddy remarked shrewdly and broke into hoarse laughter. "I--I was told to see Mr. Underheld about editing CRAZY STORIES." The little old lady quieted down at that and peered at him through her spectacles with a perturbed gleam that made him squirm. "Oh," she said and was silent a moment. "CRAZY STORIES, eh? Oh, well, I suppose you need the job. Just walk right into his office. It's staring you right in the face." So it was. John moved toward it, a little upset by Miss O'Gillikuddy's odd attitude. He tapped on the door, and, no reply forthcoming, tapped again. "COME IN!" a tremendous voice roared. nearly bowling John over. "DON'T STAND AT ATTENTION! COME IN! THINK MY TIME'S WORTH NOTHING?" John practically fell in. Underheld was a big, paunchy man; he was standing before a dirty window, looking out with his back toward John. "YOU THE CRAZY MAN?" his voice thundered. "Well," John considerred. "In a way." "AH." the great man boomed. "I WISH A WORD WITH YOU BEFORE YOU TAKE OVER YOUR DUTIES. SIT DOWN!" John looked around for a chair, found one, and sat down. When he looked up from the process, he found that Mr. Underheld had turned, and was regarding him with tiny, deeply set eyes. His drooping lips twitched a little under his hooked nose. "NOW, MY BOY," he said deafeningly. "FIRST OF ALL, WHAT SORT OF
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