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Milty's Mag, June 1941

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slimy snakes, which twined together and coalesced into brilliant orange reptile with blue eyes. The shape of the being changed oftener and oftener, until there was nothing but a blur from which momentarily emerged fantastic limbs, and once there was a face that just leered. It became quite disconcerting. Knives, swords, bullets of atomic explosives, beams of force of fearful intensity, all streamed through that space from the audience, but the chairman continued. Finally, from impatience, Fred Pohl dipped a spitball into one of his drinks, and projected it at the monster with a rubber band. With a thunderclap the being disappeared, but the voice continued, calmly continuing on with the business of the meeting.

Afterwards, the many photographers who had been busily snapping away noticed a curious thing. No matter what shape had been visible on the platform at the time, the photographs always showed Milty in his full dress suit. You see, he was disguised as Mandrake the Magician. 

In the meantime, the meeting continued. An incantation by Perdue soothed the hovering spirits, while Lowndes, hand on the switch of a vibrating neutralizer, watched keenly for signs of trouble, at the first outbreak of which the ether in the auditorium would become impassable to ether-born oscillations. 

The speaker of honor was H.G. Wells, a tottering old man with hair of white and straggling moustache that persisted in sticking in his teeth. "Civilization is doomed," he croaked, and then his legs gave way, and he was escorted back to his seat. The audience cheered wildly.

"We will now have discussion on the location of the next convention," the chairman said, following an old tradition, and immediately disappeared behind an impenetrable wall of force. The hall suddenly seemed to grow dark and cold. Someone in the audience rose. Could it be Wollheim? The shape was not clearly seen. A bolt of incandescence spurted with a roar, the standing figure shrieked, and darkness suddenly clamped down as Lowndes [elision?] the switch of the neutralizer. 

Who was it that had risen? was it really Wollheim? Was he safe, or had he been demolished by the bolt? Had Lowndes been in time? For the next episode of this thrilling drama be with us next .....

No, silly, this isn't a serial. Of course it was Wollheim, and of course Lowndes saved him.

"Curse Lowndes!" one of the audience -- it could have been almost anybody -- exclaimed.

The lights suddenly flashed on. Nobody was to be seen. Slowly Robert G. Thompson rose from behind his chair. Thompson had come in his every-day working clothes. He represented a mad scientist. "Mr. Chairman," his voice quavered out. "I make a motion that on New Years Eve, 2000 A.D., we hold the greatest con[vention]

Saving...

slimy snakes, which twined together and coalesced into brilliant orange reptile with blue eyes. The shape of the being changed oftener and oftener, until there was nothing but a blur from which momentarily emerged fantastic limbs, and once there was a face that just leered. It became quite disconcerting. Knives, swords, bullets of atomic explosives, beams of force of fearful intensity, all streamed through that space from the audience, but the chairman continued. Finally, from impatience, Fred Pohl dipped a spitball into one of his drinks, and projected it at the monster with a rubber band. With a thunderclap the being disappeared, but the voice continued, calmly continuing on with the business of the meeting. Afterwards, the many photographers who had been busily snapping away noticed a curious thing. No matter what shape had been visible on the platform at the time, the photographs always showed Milty in his full dress suit. You see, he was disguised as Mandrake the Magician. In the meantime, the meeting continued. An incantation by Perdue soothed the hovering spirits, while Lowndes, hand on the switch of a vibrating neutralizer, watched keenly for signs of trouble, at the first outbreak of which the ether in the auditorium would become impassable to ether-born oscillations. The speaker of honor was H.G. Wells, a tottering old man with hair of white and straggling moustache that persisted in sticking in his teeth. "Civilization is doomed," he croaked, and then his legs gave way, and he was escorted back to his seat. The audience cheered wildly. "We will now have discussion on the location of the next convention," the chairman said, following an old tradition, and immediately disappeared behind an impenetrable wall of force. The hall suddenly seemed to grow dark and cold. Someone in the audience rose. Could it be Wollheim? The shape was not clearly seen. A bolt of incandescence spurted with a roar, the standing figure shrieked, and darkness suddenly clamped down as Lowndes [elision?] the switch of the neutralizer. Who was it that had risen? was it really Wollheim? Was he safe, or had he been demolished by the bolt? Had Lowndes been in time? For the next episode of this thrilling drama be with us next ..... No, silly, this isn't a serial. Of course it was Wollheim, and of course Lowndes saved him. "Curse Lowndes!" one of the audience -- it could have been almost anybody -- exclaimed. The lights suddenly flashed on. Nobody was to be seen. Slowly Robert G. Thompson rose from behind his chair. Thompson had come in his every-day working clothes. He represented a mad scientist. "Mr. Chairman," his voice quavered out. "I make a motion that on New Years Eve, 2000 A.D., we hold the greatest con[vention]