A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

THE ELIXIR OF HATE 17 gani. My few friends and the people here, inside my gates, hardly think of me as a doctor at all. I am merely one among them ; I am only I] Vecchio—the ancient one.” “But,” stammered Dennison, “but—I expected—”’ “Of course!” assented Pagani. He seized the American’s hand in a warm, hearty grasp. “I understand. You prob- ably expected to find some formidable savant immured in a den with dried bodies, skulls, bats, and all the rest of the regu- Jation alchemistic mummery. Well,” and he shrugged his powerful shoulders, “if so, I must disappoint you. “I am only a common ordinary man among men, the least of any, albeit of great age. I, too, serve. Even among the rosetrees, which I love to favor with a little more sunlight and warmth and life, I find simple, quiet satisfaction. But of these things we can speak later. You are weary now. Come on in the house and rest a while. Then we can talk. Not now. “Even thought you come from Witham, to whom I owe my life—even though all ] have is yours, to my last bit of bread and wine—TI must bid you rest before you state your errand.” ~ Releasing Dennison’s hand, he dis- missed the Lombard with a gesture of finality. “Come, now,” he queried of Dennison, ‘will you honor me by entering my door ?” He took the satchel from his guest and led the way toward the house. With a smile, he stood aside for Dennison to en- ter first. Quiet and a trifle slow, his every esture was courtesy embodied—the per- ect, poised courtesy of the cultured Euro- pean. In the hallway Dennison faced him with growing excitement. Now that the first surprise of this meeting had a trifle worn away, the object of his mission, ever- urgent, incessantly burning in his mind, forced the Americun to speak. “I—I’m not tired!” he exclaimed in a hoarse, quivering voice that utterly belied his words. ‘Never felt better in my life. Let me have just a few minutes’ talk with you now. I’ve come all the way from New ork to ask you a question. Can’t wait much longer. Won't you—” “My friend,” interrupted 11 Vecchio, raising a hand for silence, “no, no, I must refuse. Out of regard for you, and for the man in whose name you come to me, I must decline. Rest—you need rest. Aft- er that, as many questions as you please. But for the present, even were you With- am himself, I could not talk with you. Come!” And now he led the way up a broad stone flight of steps, which turning at the half-way landing, led to the second story. Here he showed Dennison to a large sunny room, furnished in the man- ner of a hundred years ago, and with a curtained bed set in an alcove. The win- dows gave a magnificent view of the grounds, with a wide stretch of seascape beyond. But even this peaceful chamber could not calm the American’s over- wrought nerves. Impatiently he turned to the old man, who, smiling, said: “In an hour from this time you can find me in my study. But would it not be wiser to wait till tomorrow for whatever busi- ness you may have with me? We have much time. Nothing presses. Tomorrow, then ?” “No, no!” hastily objected Dennison. “I’m all right now ! Can’t you give me just a few minutes’ time immediately ? If—” Il Vecchio shook his head. “Au _ revoir,” he murmured, bowing himself out. Dennison, astonished, watched the sin- gular figure in peasant garb retreating down the hall. The sabots clinked on the tiled floor. With a grimace of vexation the American turned back into the room, closed the door, and, planting both hands on his lank hips, stood there in deep thought. By the way his lower lip projected, and by the scowl on his tired, travel-worn face, his vexation was apparent. At length, with an exclamation of ‘“Well, he holds all the cards!” Dennison began taking off his coat and collar, and started to remove the stains of travel. “Am I crazy—or is he?” wondered the American. ALF an hour later, somewhat restored by cool water and by some fruit and wine which the Lombard had brought him, the doctor wandered down-stairs again. He felt the need of constant activity. Fe- an) (C 6)(0)©) Ss (C(O)