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Leprechaun, v. 1, issue 3, Summer 1942

Page 4

4     LEPRECHAUN

Behind the
Editorial DOOR
by Paul Spencer

The offices of Chilling Blunder Stories were the scene of the utmost despair. J. P. Guggenheimer, august and massive President of the Chilling Publishing Co., paced the floor in his private sanctum; behind him paced his faithful secretary, wringing a handkerchief in her hands. In the office of Jack B. Nimble, editor of CBS, his secretary sat at her desk and sobbed. Jack B. Nimble was not present. In fact, that was why J.P. Guggenheimer paced the floor, secretary-haunted, and why Jack B. Nimble's secretary sobbed --- and why all the editors at Chilling's offices were grim-faced, and even the humble office boy, E. P. Phipps, spoke in hushed tones. Ever since six hours before, when Editor Nimble had entered, stood dramatically in the doorway, and shouted, "I'm through!", this situation had prevailed.
For CBS was raking in the coin. Hundreds of thousands of pulp readers paid their 15[[cent symbol]] each month for CBS, and now no hand was at the helm. Nor did it seem as though J. P. Guggenheimer was going to find anybody to fill J. B. Nimble's spacious shoes. Every s-f authority edited his own mag, and no-one seemed left with enough experience to handle Chilling Blunder.
But exactly six hours after jack B. Nimble had made his dreadful announcement, the door opened, and in walked an eager-faced young man, who asked, with a note of reverence in his voice, "May I see the editor of Chilling Blunder Stories?" So everybody, down to E. P. Phipps, the humble office boy, knew this person was an s-f fan.
In doleful tones, the editor of Wham Bang Comics, taking a spot of H2O from the cooler, replied: "Nope, sonny. He ain't with us no more."
"Not with you?" the fanatic queried, trembling. "Do you --- can you mean that --- that CBS has been discontinued?" Then, at a sad nod from the other he clapped his hand to his forehead and cried, "Alas! Alas! I am undone!" and toppled to the floor in a faint.
People came running to the scene, and as the editor of Wham Bang Comics lifted the lad from the floor, he was heard to observe, "Pretty taste for melodrama he has; maybe J.P. . . ." With which he dragged the fan's form into the sanctum sanctorum of J. P. Guggenheimer.
"What's this?" the great man shouted hoarsely. "What are you doing dragging corpses in here on this day of all days?"
"Oh, he's just fainted," the editor replied deferentially; "But he's a science fiction fan, and seems to know his melodrama." And he proceeded to set forth the tale of the young man's coming, concluding: "So if he's unattached maybe he can replace Nimble. Huh? And if so, I could use a --- "
"Wake him up!" the great man interrupted. So the editor shook the lad into consciousness. Then, leveling one fat finger like the muzzle of a pistol, J. P. Guggenheimer shot at the poor chap, "Are you an s-f fan? Good! Do you need a job? Good! Will fifteen a week do? Good! Do you know anything about editing?"
"Eh?" the lad mumbled, observing a reply was expected. "Oh --- good! No -- I mean -- well, I was editor of my high school pa -- "

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4 LEPRECHAUN Behind the Editorial DOOR by Paul Spencer The offices of Chilling Blunder Stories were the scene of the utmost despair. J. P. Guggenheimer, august and massive President of the Chilling Publishing Co., paced the floor in his private sanctum; behind him paced his faithful secretary, wringing a handkerchief in her hands. In the office of Jack B. Nimble, editor of CBS, his secretary sat at her desk and sobbed. Jack B. Nimble was not present. In fact, that was why J.P. Guggenheimer paced the floor, secretary-haunted, and why Jack B. Nimble's secretary sobbed --- and why all the editors at Chilling's offices were grim-faced, and even the humble office boy, E. P. Phipps, spoke in hushed tones. Ever since six hours before, when Editor Nimble had entered, stood dramatically in the doorway, and shouted, "I'm through!", this situation had prevailed. For CBS was raking in the coin. Hundreds of thousands of pulp readers paid their 15[[cent symbol]] each month for CBS, and now no hand was at the helm. Nor did it seem as though J. P. Guggenheimer was going to find anybody to fill J. B. Nimble's spacious shoes. Every s-f authority edited his own mag, and no-one seemed left with enough experience to handle Chilling Blunder. But exactly six hours after jack B. Nimble had made his dreadful announcement, the door opened, and in walked an eager-faced young man, who asked, with a note of reverence in his voice, "May I see the editor of Chilling Blunder Stories?" So everybody, down to E. P. Phipps, the humble office boy, knew this person was an s-f fan. In doleful tones, the editor of Wham Bang Comics, taking a spot of H2O from the cooler, replied: "Nope, sonny. He ain't with us no more." "Not with you?" the fanatic queried, trembling. "Do you --- can you mean that --- that CBS has been discontinued?" Then, at a sad nod from the other he clapped his hand to his forehead and cried, "Alas! Alas! I am undone!" and toppled to the floor in a faint. People came running to the scene, and as the editor of Wham Bang Comics lifted the lad from the floor, he was heard to observe, "Pretty taste for melodrama he has; maybe J.P. . . ." With which he dragged the fan's form into the sanctum sanctorum of J. P. Guggenheimer. "What's this?" the great man shouted hoarsely. "What are you doing dragging corpses in here on this day of all days?" "Oh, he's just fainted," the editor replied deferentially; "But he's a science fiction fan, and seems to know his melodrama." And he proceeded to set forth the tale of the young man's coming, concluding: "So if he's unattached maybe he can replace Nimble. Huh? And if so, I could use a --- " "Wake him up!" the great man interrupted. So the editor shook the lad into consciousness. Then, leveling one fat finger like the muzzle of a pistol, J. P. Guggenheimer shot at the poor chap, "Are you an s-f fan? Good! Do you need a job? Good! Will fifteen a week do? Good! Do you know anything about editing?" "Eh?" the lad mumbled, observing a reply was expected. "Oh --- good! No -- I mean -- well, I was editor of my high school pa -- "