DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Acolyte, v. 3, issue 1, whole no. 9, Winter 1945

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Acolyte, v. 3, issue 1, whole no. 9, Winter 1945

Page 10

two remaining party guests. He nodded a greeting, speechless from excitement.
"Well, son," the Judge said affectionately, "did you have a nice party?"
"Oh, keen, dad!"
"That's fine. Lots of nice presents, eh?"
"Lots and lots and lots. Look, dad. Look at this cowboy suit from Aunt Caroline, and look here..." He took exuberant glee in giving a complete catalog of presents, even down to the book which Martin had findly hoped would not be too old for him.
"And which do you like best, Dick?"
This was a hard question. "Oh, I don't know, Uncle Martin. I sort of think maybe I like this funny old bird the best. He's funny he is."
"Who gave him to you?" the Judge asked, fearful lest he encounter some none too subtle bribery.
The nurse, who had kept herself discreetly effaced, now stepped forward. "I don't rightly know, sir," she admitted. "You see, as all the things came in the mail, I'd unwrap them and put them in here, and I guess the card for that one just must have gotten lost some way. Funny the way those things happen."
The Judge picked up the creature in his hand. "Curious looking bird, isn't it, Lamb? Looks like an ostrich, and yet it doesn't, if you know what I mean."
"It's a cassowary," Martin murmured. "Related to the ostrich. He took the toy himself. "Damn good reproduction, too. Just feel that hard, horny beak, and look at those eyes. It reminds me of a little verse of mine" (the Judge grunted) "that starts 
'The cassowary's evil gleam
'Sets him apart from birds who beam;
'Each eye's a...'"
But Martin never reached the actually quite amusing end of his verse. He suddenly dropped the bird and stared at it with something very close to fear.
"Why, what's the matter, old man?" the Judge queried concernedly.
"I've been reading too many horror stories, I guess. I thought I felt it move... Silly..."
"No more so than your theories on penology, Lamb." And the Judge laughed ponderously.
Martin joined in courteously, and then broke off. "I don't like it," he said. "Its skin feels almost real, and...the workmanship looks West Indian, and they don't have cassowaries there."
The Judge continued to laugh. "There's nothing wrong, old man. Look how Dick loves it... Come into the library for a highball. And you could stay tonight, I should like to..."
As Martin followed the Judge from the room, he could hear Dick's happy voice. "Uncle Martin says it's a commissary. Isn't that a funny name for a bird?"

But Martin was unable to stay that night; and so it was not until he read the morning paper that he learned how Dick Maxwell had roused the household with his screams at midnight, and how the child had been found with both eyes gouged out by a night-prowler, although the windows were locked. The account, written by an exceptionally obnoxious sobsister, was most detailed. Martin noted particularly the phrase of the nurse, who described the eyes as looking "pecked out", and the gruesome care with which the writer had pictured how blood had

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Saving...

two remaining party guests. He nodded a greeting, speechless from excitement. "Well, son," the Judge said affectionately, "did you have a nice party?" "Oh, keen, dad!" "That's fine. Lots of nice presents, eh?" "Lots and lots and lots. Look, dad. Look at this cowboy suit from Aunt Caroline, and look here..." He took exuberant glee in giving a complete catalog of presents, even down to the book which Martin had findly hoped would not be too old for him. "And which do you like best, Dick?" This was a hard question. "Oh, I don't know, Uncle Martin. I sort of think maybe I like this funny old bird the best. He's funny he is." "Who gave him to you?" the Judge asked, fearful lest he encounter some none too subtle bribery. The nurse, who had kept herself discreetly effaced, now stepped forward. "I don't rightly know, sir," she admitted. "You see, as all the things came in the mail, I'd unwrap them and put them in here, and I guess the card for that one just must have gotten lost some way. Funny the way those things happen." The Judge picked up the creature in his hand. "Curious looking bird, isn't it, Lamb? Looks like an ostrich, and yet it doesn't, if you know what I mean." "It's a cassowary," Martin murmured. "Related to the ostrich. He took the toy himself. "Damn good reproduction, too. Just feel that hard, horny beak, and look at those eyes. It reminds me of a little verse of mine" (the Judge grunted) "that starts 'The cassowary's evil gleam 'Sets him apart from birds who beam; 'Each eye's a...'" But Martin never reached the actually quite amusing end of his verse. He suddenly dropped the bird and stared at it with something very close to fear. "Why, what's the matter, old man?" the Judge queried concernedly. "I've been reading too many horror stories, I guess. I thought I felt it move... Silly..." "No more so than your theories on penology, Lamb." And the Judge laughed ponderously. Martin joined in courteously, and then broke off. "I don't like it," he said. "Its skin feels almost real, and...the workmanship looks West Indian, and they don't have cassowaries there." The Judge continued to laugh. "There's nothing wrong, old man. Look how Dick loves it... Come into the library for a highball. And you could stay tonight, I should like to..." As Martin followed the Judge from the room, he could hear Dick's happy voice. "Uncle Martin says it's a commissary. Isn't that a funny name for a bird?" But Martin was unable to stay that night; and so it was not until he read the morning paper that he learned how Dick Maxwell had roused the household with his screams at midnight, and how the child had been found with both eyes gouged out by a night-prowler, although the windows were locked. The account, written by an exceptionally obnoxious sobsister, was most detailed. Martin noted particularly the phrase of the nurse, who described the eyes as looking "pecked out", and the gruesome care with which the writer had pictured how blood had -- 10 --