DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fantascience Digest, v. 3, issue 3, whole no. 15, November-December 1941

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Fantascience Digest, v. 3, issue 3, whole no. 15, November-December 1941

Page 18

Page 18

ial, and we know. For your information, a Boilermaker is comprised of one part warm beer, one part corn liquor, and one part vertigo. It carries all the authority of a tomahawk in the hands of a rampaging redskin, and will lay you low quicker than you can holler Kickapoo Joyjuice.
   So in a spirit of revenge on all you readers who have signally failed to play guess with the management, we give you herewith Part III of this odious opus. Okay -- so you give it back to us? Go ahead, laugh at our effort. We only hope you do. After all, this is supposed to be funny, at times. At the wrong times, maybe. But come -- we must away to the star-spangled depths of space!
   For it is in the gulfs which bridge the far off worlds that we now find Seaton, and Crane, and Dottie, and Marge. They are playing bridge, and Hawk Carse is kibitzing, having signed on with the crew to aid them in their fight with Blacky DuQuesne and the High Muckamuck of Macaroon.
   "I bid seven no-trumps," remarked Dottie, dimpling, and skipping over to the past tense to prevent the ensuing paragraphs sounding too awkward.
   "I double," snapped Hawk Carse quickly, looking into Margaret's hand. Margaret was playing West and Dottie was East. Crane was North and Seaton was in the galley cooking up a tasty snack for his pet thoat, which he had brought along and tied up in the engine room among all the delicate instruments, where it could do no damage.
   "Eight spades!" cried Dottie, thinking quickly and extricating herself from quite a contretemps.
   "That's different," commented Hawk, "but I'd still like to know who's playing the South hand."
   At this point the problem of a fourth at bridge was solved by Seaton, who came in dragging after him a considerably subdued individual.
   "A stowaway in our midst," he announced briefly. "I found him hiding in a jar of peanut butter. At first he insisted he was the fly in the ointment, but now he claims to be ---"
   "Julius Unger!" announced the stowaway cheerfully, as he bowed from the waist. He'd tried bowing from other places and had discovered his anatomy didn't allow such contortions.
   A chorus of exclamations greeted this disclosure. Dorothy took the contralto, Margaret the soprano, Seaton tenor, Crane falsetto, and Carse was bass. "Whatever are you doing here?" was the consensus of the questionnaire. Unger explained briefly that he ran a newspaper and believed in keeping up with the times. To obtain first-hand information about the flight of the FROLIC II, he had decided to come along and get the number one story of all time.
   "But we can't put you up," protested Crane, ever practical. "In

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Page 18 ial, and we know. For your information, a Boilermaker is comprised of one part warm beer, one part corn liquor, and one part vertigo. It carries all the authority of a tomahawk in the hands of a rampaging redskin, and will lay you low quicker than you can holler Kickapoo Joyjuice. So in a spirit of revenge on all you readers who have signally failed to play guess with the management, we give you herewith Part III of this odious opus. Okay -- so you give it back to us? Go ahead, laugh at our effort. We only hope you do. After all, this is supposed to be funny, at times. At the wrong times, maybe. But come -- we must away to the star-spangled depths of space! For it is in the gulfs which bridge the far off worlds that we now find Seaton, and Crane, and Dottie, and Marge. They are playing bridge, and Hawk Carse is kibitzing, having signed on with the crew to aid them in their fight with Blacky DuQuesne and the High Muckamuck of Macaroon. "I bid seven no-trumps," remarked Dottie, dimpling, and skipping over to the past tense to prevent the ensuing paragraphs sounding too awkward. "I double," snapped Hawk Carse quickly, looking into Margaret's hand. Margaret was playing West and Dottie was East. Crane was North and Seaton was in the galley cooking up a tasty snack for his pet thoat, which he had brought along and tied up in the engine room among all the delicate instruments, where it could do no damage. "Eight spades!" cried Dottie, thinking quickly and extricating herself from quite a contretemps. "That's different," commented Hawk, "but I'd still like to know who's playing the South hand." At this point the problem of a fourth at bridge was solved by Seaton, who came in dragging after him a considerably subdued individual. "A stowaway in our midst," he announced briefly. "I found him hiding in a jar of peanut butter. At first he insisted he was the fly in the ointment, but now he claims to be ---" "Julius Unger!" announced the stowaway cheerfully, as he bowed from the waist. He'd tried bowing from other places and had discovered his anatomy didn't allow such contortions. A chorus of exclamations greeted this disclosure. Dorothy took the contralto, Margaret the soprano, Seaton tenor, Crane falsetto, and Carse was bass. "Whatever are you doing here?" was the consensus of the questionnaire. Unger explained briefly that he ran a newspaper and believed in keeping up with the times. To obtain first-hand information about the flight of the FROLIC II, he had decided to come along and get the number one story of all time. "But we can't put you up," protested Crane, ever practical. "In