DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Necromancer, v. 1, issue 1, July 1947

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Necromancer, v. 1, issue 1, July 1947

Page 17

and as I recall, the world finally ended up by going to the apes after it had gone to the dogs."

He really began to bristle at that remark. His ears went back and now I was able to see his eyes burning clearly through the fuzz in hot dogmatic anger.

"Woosh!" he exclaimed, "what a slanderous remark. Ye humans are little more than gorillas yersel's! The tale did NOT end like that. Carlisle merely suggested wot might o' happened!"

With this, he endeavoured to carry out his earlier threat, but fortunately for me, I was slightly faster than he, as I was approaching the nimble stage having had another quick two fingers of brew while he was expostulating.

"Missed me!" I yelled, clutching the bottle. "No more of this for you unless you control your temper."

He became immediately subdued, and adopted an apologetic manner.

"Ooh, laddie, ye wouldna deprive me o' my grog, would ye?" he whined, "are ye forgettin' that it was me who relieved yon cabinboy o'his wee tee that time he tried to mak'-off wi' yet pint o' bitters?"

"I remember, but I've often wondered whether it was dog loyalty on your part or whether the beer was your ultimate objective. Whatever happened to that pint? In the confusion that followed I lost complete track of it."

"I haven't any idea, me bucko," and he belched reflectively.

"Allright -- but watch yourself, or I'll make the proverbial nows by chowing a hunk out of your hide!"

I poured a long one in his dish, and he lapped contentedly for about seven-eights of a second. When he had finished licking his paws, he made the canine equivalent of a sigh and looked up belligerently.

"I suppose ye think the human race is the superior being on this mundane wurrld."

"Most regard it as so," I countered "but I'm quite willing to listen, I mean listen to anything reasonable."

"Ooh! Y'or a canny Harp," he said slyly, "and y'or a bloody hypocrite besides."

"Harp!" I exclaimed with feeling, "I'm no Mick; my father was as much of a Scot as you are, and you know it!"

"I didna mean t' wound yer feelin's, laddie, but sometimes ye act as though ye were anemic for the lack o' yer father's blood."

We were both beginning to feel quite mellow by this time, and I could see that we were in for one of our usual invigorating sessions made more delightful by the fact that he had decided to converse with me. He glanced sidelongingly at the joy-juice, so I poured him a really solid one this time, and after it had gone the way of all flush, he burped again, and then launched upon one of the most thought-provoking orations it has ever been my privilege to spend a quiet moment bending an ear to.

"I mentioned a wee while ago that if more o' yer kind had the eyes o' dogs things would be generally better for all concerned on this sphere," he began.

"Aye, and it's the truth, for when a dog looks at man he sees neither color, race, nor creed. His heart cares not whether his eyes behold curved noses, anglog eyes or deformed backs. He has no interest in sizes, shapes or inherited characteristics. He looks upon all as does a child o' tender years, and knows instinctively men o' good or bad wills. He offers his love regardless o' shade o' skin, and his friendship is givin freely to those who would have it. Aye, 

PAGE 17

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and as I recall, the world finally ended up by going to the apes after it had gone to the dogs." He really began to bristle at that remark. His ears went back and now I was able to see his eyes burning clearly through the fuzz in hot dogmatic anger. "Woosh!" he exclaimed, "what a slanderous remark. Ye humans are little more than gorillas yersel's! The tale did NOT end like that. Carlisle merely suggested wot might o' happened!" With this, he endeavoured to carry out his earlier threat, but fortunately for me, I was slightly faster than he, as I was approaching the nimble stage having had another quick two fingers of brew while he was expostulating. "Missed me!" I yelled, clutching the bottle. "No more of this for you unless you control your temper." He became immediately subdued, and adopted an apologetic manner. "Ooh, laddie, ye wouldna deprive me o' my grog, would ye?" he whined, "are ye forgettin' that it was me who relieved yon cabinboy o'his wee tee that time he tried to mak'-off wi' yet pint o' bitters?" "I remember, but I've often wondered whether it was dog loyalty on your part or whether the beer was your ultimate objective. Whatever happened to that pint? In the confusion that followed I lost complete track of it." "I haven't any idea, me bucko," and he belched reflectively. "Allright -- but watch yourself, or I'll make the proverbial nows by chowing a hunk out of your hide!" I poured a long one in his dish, and he lapped contentedly for about seven-eights of a second. When he had finished licking his paws, he made the canine equivalent of a sigh and looked up belligerently. "I suppose ye think the human race is the superior being on this mundane wurrld." "Most regard it as so," I countered "but I'm quite willing to listen, I mean listen to anything reasonable." "Ooh! Y'or a canny Harp," he said slyly, "and y'or a bloody hypocrite besides." "Harp!" I exclaimed with feeling, "I'm no Mick; my father was as much of a Scot as you are, and you know it!" "I didna mean t' wound yer feelin's, laddie, but sometimes ye act as though ye were anemic for the lack o' yer father's blood." We were both beginning to feel quite mellow by this time, and I could see that we were in for one of our usual invigorating sessions made more delightful by the fact that he had decided to converse with me. He glanced sidelongingly at the joy-juice, so I poured him a really solid one this time, and after it had gone the way of all flush, he burped again, and then launched upon one of the most thought-provoking orations it has ever been my privilege to spend a quiet moment bending an ear to. "I mentioned a wee while ago that if more o' yer kind had the eyes o' dogs things would be generally better for all concerned on this sphere," he began. "Aye, and it's the truth, for when a dog looks at man he sees neither color, race, nor creed. His heart cares not whether his eyes behold curved noses, anglog eyes or deformed backs. He has no interest in sizes, shapes or inherited characteristics. He looks upon all as does a child o' tender years, and knows instinctively men o' good or bad wills. He offers his love regardless o' shade o' skin, and his friendship is givin freely to those who would have it. Aye, PAGE 17