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National Fantasy Fan, v. 7, issue 4, August 1948

Page 2

Here we are, spinning along the broad autobalm - a six lane highway - at an entirely conservative speed - 45 mph., and we pass a sign which sez 30 mph - on this enormous speedway.  My sabconscious notes it, and starts watching the rier-view mirror.  Russell remarks it, and I guess that I'm psychic - can sense a cop miles away.  (But it seems that the faculty is somewhat rusty --)  and anyway, 30 mph this is a civilized country.  Horses do better than that.  Inconceivable.  Then I note that a gray car which had passed, going the other way, is now going this way-a long way behind.  SURELY THEY'RE NOT SERIOUS!  I slow till I can count the grass blades passing.  But no - we got a ticket.  We plead and abase ourselves, but he clocked us from 1000 feet behind, and mercy was not in him.  He told us that if the fine were not paid within 48 hours, a supponena would follow, but the fine would not be increased.  (An interesting fact is that, to date the suppoena hasn't shown up, the we did proceed on Canada-wards.

Leaving La., we were, as expected, in a sweet region of low-priced gasoline, and a postoffice, in Picayune, Miss., where Russell wrote back for everything he'd forgotten (more foul ups here!)  Then to Hattiesburg - with 2 (two!) bookstores.  The chase is on!  Tally ho!  Vandaveer's Road 25; Star of the Unborn, $1 - And romance!  Eating lunch here, the waitress watched me constantly, and whenever I looked at her she smiled.  I feared, and clung closely to Russell!  What might not have happened, had I been alone!  (Did I do it right, Boys)

Thence thru the day, to Birminham, Ala., at night, which we found covered by a confusing (and maladorous) smog, and so didn't stop, but shoved thru to a camp on the other side.  Discovered that Russell snores - the beast!  Decided next morning not to turn back just to look at B'haven, and so on to Nashville, Tenn.  It was Sunday, anyway.

Obviously Lovecraft was wasting his time in New England.  We saw at least a dozen churches of marvelous suitability for "The Haunter of the Dark," and hundreds of "Shunned Houses", splendid for obtaining models for Pickmave in, and which undoubtedly had super-rats in the walls.  But, again, we saw nothing that looked like an enticing book-store neighborhood.  We did see a small Valantian colony.  Woral has a trailer and trailer-supply business thee, and also in Louisville, Ky., whee we arrived that night.  (I banished that roaring Wampus to another room and so slept).  Next day gave the burg a good going-over.  Found several promising looking joints, but detected the malign influence of other fen - slim pickings.  Russ got an "Atlantida", and I an "Aslogant and History of White Ben".

Bookstore - dredgins sure is a lot of trouble, ain't it boys?  Many weeks with nothing worthwhile, and only once or twice - a year a real find.  Why do we keep it up?  For that once-a-year event?  Why, hell, yes.  The sky's the limit then!  Nest-ce-pas?

So, somewhat dampened in spirits, northwards again.  Pore over maps, argue, wrangle.  "Yeah, I guess this is Covington we're coming to next." 

Then a little signboard swishes by wot sez "Silver Ave."  Scre-ee-ee-eech!  The Triumphant Chariot comes to a stop - even in the midst of that rough a tumble traffic there, and sails back and in.

Saving...

Here we are, spinning along the broad autobalm - a six lane highway - at an entirely conservative speed - 45 mph., and we pass a sign which sez 30 mph - on this enormous speedway. My sabconscious notes it, and starts watching the rier-view mirror. Russell remarks it, and I guess that I'm psychic - can sense a cop miles away. (But it seems that the faculty is somewhat rusty --) and anyway, 30 mph this is a civilized country. Horses do better than that. Inconceivable. Then I note that a gray car which had passed, going the other way, is now going this way-a long way behind. SURELY THEY'RE NOT SERIOUS! I slow till I can count the grass blades passing. But no - we got a ticket. We plead and abase ourselves, but he clocked us from 1000 feet behind, and mercy was not in him. He told us that if the fine were not paid within 48 hours, a supponena would follow, but the fine would not be increased. (An interesting fact is that, to date the suppoena hasn't shown up, the we did proceed on Canada-wards. Leaving La., we were, as expected, in a sweet region of low-priced gasoline, and a postoffice, in Picayune, Miss., where Russell wrote back for everything he'd forgotten (more foul ups here!) Then to Hattiesburg - with 2 (two!) bookstores. The chase is on! Tally ho! Vandaveer's Road 25; Star of the Unborn, $1 - And romance! Eating lunch here, the waitress watched me constantly, and whenever I looked at her she smiled. I feared, and clung closely to Russell! What might not have happened, had I been alone! (Did I do it right, Boys) Thence thru the day, to Birminham, Ala., at night, which we found covered by a confusing (and maladorous) smog, and so didn't stop, but shoved thru to a camp on the other side. Discovered that Russell snores - the beast! Decided next morning not to turn back just to look at B'haven, and so on to Nashville, Tenn. It was Sunday, anyway. Obviously Lovecraft was wasting his time in New England. We saw at least a dozen churches of marvelous suitability for "The Haunter of the Dark," and hundreds of "Shunned Houses", splendid for obtaining models for Pickmave in, and which undoubtedly had super-rats in the walls. But, again, we saw nothing that looked like an enticing book-store neighborhood. We did see a small Valantian colony. Woral has a trailer and trailer-supply business thee, and also in Louisville, Ky., whee we arrived that night. (I banished that roaring Wampus to another room and so slept). Next day gave the burg a good going-over. Found several promising looking joints, but detected the malign influence of other fen - slim pickings. Russ got an "Atlantida", and I an "Aslogant and History of White Ben". Bookstore - dredgins sure is a lot of trouble, ain't it boys? Many weeks with nothing worthwhile, and only once or twice - a year a real find. Why do we keep it up? For that once-a-year event? Why, hell, yes. The sky's the limit then! Nest-ce-pas? So, somewhat dampened in spirits, northwards again. Pore over maps, argue, wrangle. "Yeah, I guess this is Covington we're coming to next." Then a little signboard swishes by wot sez "Silver Ave." Scre-ee-ee-eech! The Triumphant Chariot comes to a stop - even in the midst of that rough a tumble traffic there, and sails back and in.