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Comet, v. 1, issue 2, March-April 1941
Page 5
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THE COMET PAGE 5 THE DISCERNING EYE by GENE ST. JEANNE Paul Dunlap, entrenched behind his newspaper, slid farther and farther to the edge of his seat. The powerful hum of the electric train drew the restless commuters closer to their homes every second; suburb after suburb disappeared into the slanting drift of rain; another day in the city was recorded in life's time table. Dunlap, a man with a propensity for big words no matter what status his company belonged to, the disease known as verbomania, sat alone, but his mind was not on the newspaper. He was an amature chemist, and his brain was filled with eccentric formulas, variegated liquids, and possibilities adhering to his creations. "Did you get wet, darling?" his dutiful wife asked as she kissed him with her mind in the kitchen worrying about the almost-boiling soup. "Why, I didn't notice,dear. Are you sure it's raining?" He went to the window to exacerbate her. But when he turned, she had disappeared into the kitchen. The tedium of eating was over, his mind distended, horizontally vast, through the maze of formulas, the jungle of his knowledge of chemistry. Although he had but average intelligence, the intricacies of this subject seemed to be inumerable magnets drawing him deeper every day. Now his eyes assumed a queer luminosity, his forehead worked itself into a perplexed know, the unquiet flame of the alcohol burner shaded and shad- (continued on page 6)
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THE COMET PAGE 5 THE DISCERNING EYE by GENE ST. JEANNE Paul Dunlap, entrenched behind his newspaper, slid farther and farther to the edge of his seat. The powerful hum of the electric train drew the restless commuters closer to their homes every second; suburb after suburb disappeared into the slanting drift of rain; another day in the city was recorded in life's time table. Dunlap, a man with a propensity for big words no matter what status his company belonged to, the disease known as verbomania, sat alone, but his mind was not on the newspaper. He was an amature chemist, and his brain was filled with eccentric formulas, variegated liquids, and possibilities adhering to his creations. "Did you get wet, darling?" his dutiful wife asked as she kissed him with her mind in the kitchen worrying about the almost-boiling soup. "Why, I didn't notice,dear. Are you sure it's raining?" He went to the window to exacerbate her. But when he turned, she had disappeared into the kitchen. The tedium of eating was over, his mind distended, horizontally vast, through the maze of formulas, the jungle of his knowledge of chemistry. Although he had but average intelligence, the intricacies of this subject seemed to be inumerable magnets drawing him deeper every day. Now his eyes assumed a queer luminosity, his forehead worked itself into a perplexed know, the unquiet flame of the alcohol burner shaded and shad- (continued on page 6)
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