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The Alchemist, v.1, issue 3, Summer 1940
Page 19
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THE ALCHEMIST Page 19 school. That's the story that has been proclaimed as the masterpiece of modern fiction. Again the Martian leered—more than that he sneered. ’’But what does it make us out to be?" he queried. "A bunch of dumb clucks that can't even count above four. Phooey—look some more. A dreadful fear seized me as I removed magazine after magazine. As I looked at each story I became more and more worried; and more and more sure as to the Martians idea in bringing me here. "The War of the Worlds” —but why go on? You too probably see the idea by now. Every story in which the Martians were pictured as a race of viIlains was there! I was again taken to another part of the building. There were a number of Martians bowing down before a huge glass case in which reposed a pitifully small number of sections of other old magazines; worshipping, for some reason before them. And soon I learned why—all of these magazines were those with stories in which Mars was described as a peaceful planet. One that saved earth from destruction. I was returned to the front of the room. That’s where I am now: telepathizing this message to Harry Warner. I am trusting that he will write this article for posterity to see. One of the eight-legged men is coming toward me—he raises a purple gun—a burst of flame pops out--goodbye Earth... No, I’m wrong, that was an atomizer spraying me with perfume, probably for some worse fate. I wonder... (At this point I ceased receiving these mysterious thought waves. I cannot vouch for their authenticity; I merely tell the tale as ’twas told to me.) End
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THE ALCHEMIST Page 19 school. That's the story that has been proclaimed as the masterpiece of modern fiction. Again the Martian leered—more than that he sneered. ’’But what does it make us out to be?" he queried. "A bunch of dumb clucks that can't even count above four. Phooey—look some more. A dreadful fear seized me as I removed magazine after magazine. As I looked at each story I became more and more worried; and more and more sure as to the Martians idea in bringing me here. "The War of the Worlds” —but why go on? You too probably see the idea by now. Every story in which the Martians were pictured as a race of viIlains was there! I was again taken to another part of the building. There were a number of Martians bowing down before a huge glass case in which reposed a pitifully small number of sections of other old magazines; worshipping, for some reason before them. And soon I learned why—all of these magazines were those with stories in which Mars was described as a peaceful planet. One that saved earth from destruction. I was returned to the front of the room. That’s where I am now: telepathizing this message to Harry Warner. I am trusting that he will write this article for posterity to see. One of the eight-legged men is coming toward me—he raises a purple gun—a burst of flame pops out--goodbye Earth... No, I’m wrong, that was an atomizer spraying me with perfume, probably for some worse fate. I wonder... (At this point I ceased receiving these mysterious thought waves. I cannot vouch for their authenticity; I merely tell the tale as ’twas told to me.) End
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