DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Thing, whole no. 1, Spring 1946

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Thing, whole no. 1, Spring 1946

Page 21

Mr Pebbles cursed, very thoroughly and comprehensively. He covered all Mr. Galeano's ancestors, including one or two putative ancestors of the skunk and
weasel family who hadn't been unfortunate enough to climb into the Galeano family tree. The djinn listened with approving eyes,
     "Now you feel better,” he said. ”Perk yourself up a little more by giving me a job I can do.”
"You might,” said Hr Pobbles, ”plant the idea in those female brains, if any, that this would be. a good time to go home.”
    The slave shook his head sorrowfully. ”Again I fail you,” he said, ”We djinns can control only physical things. Thoughts are outside our range,”
     ”Then,” said Mr Pobbles, ”take them away,”
    "Where?” asked the djinn.
    "I'1 leave that to you, but before you go you might mention to my wife that I don’t want to see her again until she has seen Pete Galeano and straightened out the mess about the whiskey.”
     The house became deliciously quiet. Mr Pobbles sat back and reveled in the
silence. No giggles from Mrs Sampson, no ghoulish chuckles from Miss Lavivandiere, no minor earthquakes from Mrs Gray. It was wonderful, too wonderful. Mr Pobbles jumped to his feet and dashed into the living room. The djinn had taken Mrs Pobbles, too.
     “Heavens!” said Mr Pobbles, which was the most original thing he could think to say under the circumstances. He ran back to the lamp. As he rubbed it he could hear fire engines screaming through
the streets.
     The djinn appeared.
     "What did you do with them?”
     "I set 'em astride the steeple of the First Presbyterian Church.”
     "Gosh! What’ll Mona say?”
     "Don’t worry your head about that,” said the djinn, "They*re all too drunk to remember that they didn’t climb up by themselves. The hook and ladder boys are already busy getting them down. And now," he continued, "how about a good meal for the two of us, with a bottle or two?"
     "With a bottle or three—and a nice juicy steak."
     In fifteen seconds the djinn was setting a loaded tray on the table. "Only had to go around the block," he said.
"Mr Pobbles was aghast. "You mean that everything you bring me you have to steal somewhere else?’
     "We make some things, " conceded the djinn, "but this is simpler."
     "If you can make things," demanded Mr Pobbles,
jumping eagerly on the point, "why can't you make me some Duke of Argyll Scotch?"
     "I can," said the djinn.
     "Good!"
     "But I can't make it sixteen years old. Only time can do that. And if you want a steak from a six-year-old dairy beef, it's better to take what's waiting than to wait for it to grow."
     Mr Pobbles looked regretfully at the steak. "You
will have to take it back. That steak cost somebody at least seventy-two points and I haven't the

21

Saving...

Mr Pebbles cursed, very thoroughly and comprehensively. He covered all Mr. Galeano's ancestors, including one or two putative ancestors of the skunk and weasel family who hadn't been unfortunate enough to climb into the Galeano family tree. The djinn listened with approving eyes, "Now you feel better,” he said. ”Perk yourself up a little more by giving me a job I can do.” "You might,” said Hr Pobbles, ”plant the idea in those female brains, if any, that this would be. a good time to go home.” The slave shook his head sorrowfully. ”Again I fail you,” he said, ”We djinns can control only physical things. Thoughts are outside our range,” ”Then,” said Mr Pobbles, ”take them away,” "Where?” asked the djinn. "I'1 leave that to you, but before you go you might mention to my wife that I don’t want to see her again until she has seen Pete Galeano and straightened out the mess about the whiskey.” The house became deliciously quiet. Mr Pobbles sat back and reveled in the silence. No giggles from Mrs Sampson, no ghoulish chuckles from Miss Lavivandiere, no minor earthquakes from Mrs Gray. It was wonderful, too wonderful. Mr Pobbles jumped to his feet and dashed into the living room. The djinn had taken Mrs Pobbles, too. “Heavens!” said Mr Pobbles, which was the most original thing he could think to say under the circumstances. He ran back to the lamp. As he rubbed it he could hear fire engines screaming through the streets. The djinn appeared. "What did you do with them?” "I set 'em astride the steeple of the First Presbyterian Church.” "Gosh! What’ll Mona say?” "Don’t worry your head about that,” said the djinn, "They*re all too drunk to remember that they didn’t climb up by themselves. The hook and ladder boys are already busy getting them down. And now," he continued, "how about a good meal for the two of us, with a bottle or two?" "With a bottle or three—and a nice juicy steak." In fifteen seconds the djinn was setting a loaded tray on the table. "Only had to go around the block," he said. "Mr Pobbles was aghast. "You mean that everything you bring me you have to steal somewhere else?’ "We make some things, " conceded the djinn, "but this is simpler." "If you can make things," demanded Mr Pobbles, jumping eagerly on the point, "why can't you make me some Duke of Argyll Scotch?" "I can," said the djinn. "Good!" "But I can't make it sixteen years old. Only time can do that. And if you want a steak from a six-year-old dairy beef, it's better to take what's waiting than to wait for it to grow." Mr Pobbles looked regretfully at the steak. "You will have to take it back. That steak cost somebody at least seventy-two points and I haven't the 21