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Fantascience Digest, v. 3, issue 1, whole no. 12, January-February 1940

Page 24

Page 24             FANTASCIENCE DIGEST

   Seaton shook his fist at the caller. "Well, spit it out!"

   DuQuesne's expression became even more sardonic and sinister. Then, quite suddenly, he spit it out. It was a badly damaged piece of Spearmint gum. 

   "Hokay!" he snapped tensely. "You asked for it."

   "You ebon-souled villain," Seaton growled, and then barked, "Well, what's your dire threat?"

   DuQuesne stared at him evily, his eyebrows arched in devilish fashion. 

   "I bring a message from the High Muckamuck of Macaroon," he hissed. 

   Crane hurried over to stand beside his partner.

   "The High Muckamuck of Macaroon?" he queried in horror. "Has a fearful war, then, come at last?"

   Blacky smiled. "It indeed has, my buttercup. His majesty needs to annihilate another race to keep in practice, and you earthmen are SUCH annoying specimens of humanity."

   Seaton stood with every muscle tense. He was seething with rage, his face purple and his eyes almost emitting sparks, his teeth clenched until the muscles of his jaws stood out in bands and lumps. His right hand, white-knuckled, gripped the butt of his pistol, while under his left the switch of the vision screen slowly bent under the intensity of his unconscious muscular effort.*

   "DuQuesne," he gritted, his voice husky with fury, "do you forget that you, too, were once an earth-man before you turned traitor to your race and became the agent for a foreign power?"

   "If you HAVE forgotten," added Crane in a level, deadly voice entirely unlike his usual tone, "I shall have to take my hairbrush to your backsides."

   DuQuesne growled, and his stomach echoed the sentiment. 

   "I am Dr. Marc C. DuQuesne, and you can't frighten me with anything so childish as a hairbrush. It takes a good hearty slap on the wrist to jar my equanimity."

   Seaton regarded him with rising anger. "Will you pardon me a moment while I murmur an aside to my companion?" he asked politely.

   "Certainly," responded the irresponsible Blacky, "but if it's to tell him to slap a tracer beam on me, it won't do any good. I'm way out in the Milky Way, and I'm so full of milk that your tracer beam might end up on a Jersey cow as easily as on me."

   "It wasn't that," denied Dick, foiled. Carefully he unfoiled the foil and placed it in a glass jar containing some other foil he was saving for the Red Cross. "When is this war to begin?"

   "On Junly the 36th," responded DuQuesne, slowly fading from the screen and leaving only an after-impression of a nose, a thumb, and four waving fingers. "I'll be slaying you, chums."

   Seaton was thunderstruck. "Whew!" he cried to Crane. "Junly 26th. My gosh, that's only five years off. Do you realize that we have to work very fast?"
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*AMAZING STORIES, August 1928, Volume 3, Number 5, p. 408, 4th paragraph. (This will be the first and last footnote in this blamed epic. It's so much trouble not getting special permission of the authors.)

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Page 24 FANTASCIENCE DIGEST Seaton shook his fist at the caller. "Well, spit it out!" DuQuesne's expression became even more sardonic and sinister. Then, quite suddenly, he spit it out. It was a badly damaged piece of Spearmint gum. "Hokay!" he snapped tensely. "You asked for it." "You ebon-souled villain," Seaton growled, and then barked, "Well, what's your dire threat?" DuQuesne stared at him evily, his eyebrows arched in devilish fashion. "I bring a message from the High Muckamuck of Macaroon," he hissed. Crane hurried over to stand beside his partner. "The High Muckamuck of Macaroon?" he queried in horror. "Has a fearful war, then, come at last?" Blacky smiled. "It indeed has, my buttercup. His majesty needs to annihilate another race to keep in practice, and you earthmen are SUCH annoying specimens of humanity." Seaton stood with every muscle tense. He was seething with rage, his face purple and his eyes almost emitting sparks, his teeth clenched until the muscles of his jaws stood out in bands and lumps. His right hand, white-knuckled, gripped the butt of his pistol, while under his left the switch of the vision screen slowly bent under the intensity of his unconscious muscular effort.* "DuQuesne," he gritted, his voice husky with fury, "do you forget that you, too, were once an earth-man before you turned traitor to your race and became the agent for a foreign power?" "If you HAVE forgotten," added Crane in a level, deadly voice entirely unlike his usual tone, "I shall have to take my hairbrush to your backsides." DuQuesne growled, and his stomach echoed the sentiment. "I am Dr. Marc C. DuQuesne, and you can't frighten me with anything so childish as a hairbrush. It takes a good hearty slap on the wrist to jar my equanimity." Seaton regarded him with rising anger. "Will you pardon me a moment while I murmur an aside to my companion?" he asked politely. "Certainly," responded the irresponsible Blacky, "but if it's to tell him to slap a tracer beam on me, it won't do any good. I'm way out in the Milky Way, and I'm so full of milk that your tracer beam might end up on a Jersey cow as easily as on me." "It wasn't that," denied Dick, foiled. Carefully he unfoiled the foil and placed it in a glass jar containing some other foil he was saving for the Red Cross. "When is this war to begin?" "On Junly the 36th," responded DuQuesne, slowly fading from the screen and leaving only an after-impression of a nose, a thumb, and four waving fingers. "I'll be slaying you, chums." Seaton was thunderstruck. "Whew!" he cried to Crane. "Junly 26th. My gosh, that's only five years off. Do you realize that we have to work very fast?" _______________________________________ *AMAZING STORIES, August 1928, Volume 3, Number 5, p. 408, 4th paragraph. (This will be the first and last footnote in this blamed epic. It's so much trouble not getting special permission of the authors.)