A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE ELIXIR OF HATE © 13 the keen November wind lashing the panes, vistas of cars, trucks, other auto pedestrians, and horses all jumbled in swiftly-changing phantasmagorias, and fi- nally a sweeping dash up a long, asphalt incline. Then into a huge dim shed tooled the taxi. Rumbling, shuddering over the hoof- worn planks, the machine swept down the pier. As it squeaked to a quick halt, Dr. Dennison heard, with a sudden stopping of the heart, a many-throated huzzaing. Shouts of ‘‘Good-by! Bon voyage! Good luck !”’ reached his ears. “Great ghost!” he vociferated. ‘“‘She’s starting! Here, hold on, there!” And as though shot out of the taxi, he sprang to- ward the gangplank which, visible be- tween mountains of freight, was already swinging aloft on pulleys. “Hey, there! My money!’ yelled the chauffeur. “‘Come back here, you! Gimme my twenty-five!’ | Dr. Dennison flung back a little wad of bills, which he had made ready during the furious race against time. The chauf- feur leaped for his prize. At the same in- stant the doctor found himself headed off. Before him, to his unspeakable anguish, he discovered an impassable wooden bar- rier—a sort of high fence on standards, along which a curious crowd had gathered. At a glance, despite his extreme excite- ment, he realized the futility of trying to clamber over this and storm the gang- plank, which had already risen above his head. “Great Heavens! What—what can I do?” he panted, glaring this way then that, with eyes that blinked strangely wild behind his heavy spectacles. Appeals, he knew, would prove entirely useless. Finally he made a quick run toward an open door which led out of the pier onto a narrow runway. Through this door he had caught a glimpse of the huge black bulk of the liner. He saw it steadily drawing past the doorway. A port-hole came to view, round and brass-rimmed; before it van- ished, the doctor was out on the runway. Unobserved in the noisy tumult, in the half-dark of the enormous shed, he thread- ed his way quickly among the high-piled cases. He stood, free and so far trium- phant, not two feet from the smooth, slow- moving iron skin of the leviathan. he above him, along the rails, which were white with fluttering kerchiefs, vociferous folk were shouting platitudes at equally banal folk upon the pier-head. The doctor cursed them hotly in his heart. They aboard, faced no such prob- lem as his! Here was he, almost an old man, comparatively feeble and spent with the excitements of the past quarter-hour, facing the task of boarding a liner already under way—ticketless and unbooked— against all rules and regulations. Small wonder that for a moment he stood there clutching his medicine-case, unnerved and despairing. But it was only for a moment. Then his will and his inflexible determination reasserted themselves. “By Heaven, I will make it!” he glared up savagely at the unheeding passengers above. His heart began to thump with painful acceleration. A bad heart, at best, now it skipped and performed astonish- ing feats. The doctor caught at his breast, as though to still it. But how? Scale the smooth side of La Toulouse? Impossible! Eagerly he craned his neck. Toward him he beheld sliding a great open freight- port, yawning black in the vessel’s side. This port had not yet been closed by ifs sliding iron plate. As each side a double length of chain hung down. Calculating with a cool eye, Dennison judged that by making a leap he could lay hold of one of these chains. Black and greasy they were; and right above the boiling swirl of brine that surged among the piles they hung. Now the doctor did not hesitate. The forward chain was moving directly toward him, not more than ten feet away and perhaps five out from the string-piece. Upon that beam he stepped. Carefully, as though judging where to make the first cut in a delicate operation, he gaged the space. Then he flung the hand-bag. Far through the port it hurtled; it vanished in the black of the hold. Dennison leaped. Nerved with the strength of a savage resolve, he made the distance. nn) (C 6)(0)©) (C(O)