A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

22 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY “Life!”? choked the American. The old man raised a warning, an im- ploring hand. “Not so loud,’’? commanded he. “You forget yourself, good friend. Some one may overhear you. Be calm!” “ Rat—”’ “No, no; you can gain nothing by un- due haste or importunate demands.”’ And 1] Vecchio smiled again, that wise, shrewd, tolerant smile of his. ‘‘Here,” he added, rising, “‘let me pour you a_ soothing drink.” He took down from the wine- closet a flask of crimson liqueur. Filling a glass; he held it out. But Dennison re- fused. “No, no!” hé cried. ‘“‘Is isn’t that I want! It’s—”’ “Very well, then,” sternly interrupted the savant, ‘“‘let the conversation cease. You are overwrought and weary. Let us take a little walk through the grounds. My roses and—” “Y implore you, doctor, hear me! My time is very short, much shorter, perhaps, than you suspect. I, too, am a physician ; I understand. Why weary you with symptoms? Look at me, as I am, and judge! Only by straining my last fag- ends of strength to the very breaking- point have I been able even to reach you at all. Now, evéry hour is precious. Every minute! Let us talk!’’ Il Vecchio peered sharply at him from under those pent-house brows of his. He set down the wine-glass. , “Very well,” he conceded, with a curi- ous look. ‘What then?” For a moment the American bent his head, as though ashamed of his outburst. Then he glanced up. “‘On what terms,” he asked in an even, toneless voice, ‘will you permit me to be the subject of your experiments along this line? The risks are all my own. Gladly I will assume them. You will ac- cept me on what terms?” “Terms?” cried I] Vecchio in surprise. “Yes. That’s the plainest and most honest way to put it. All that I possess—”’ ‘“‘Stop! Do not speak to me of money !” interrupted I} Vecchio deprecatingly. 6 But | “No, no! What should I do with wealth? I have here everything I need. Money would but prove a dross and burden. Science takes no thought for wealth. Speak not of money!” Dennison remained a moment thought. Then said he: “Well, in the name of humanity, I make my appeal. And for the love you bear the friend who is mine, 00, as well as yours.” “‘Ah, now you speak a better language,” answered the philosopher. “‘ Viewed thus, the question is less sordid. Yet it is formidable. You ask me to divulge to you, in a moment, the crowning secret of my whole life-work. Nay, more than that— the climax of three thousand years’ un- ending search. You ask that I should give it all to you. Why, by what title, pray?” Dennison, eabashed could not meet the piercing eyes of the old man. Over his face he pressed both hands, and for a moment stood there, shaken and unnerved. “Three thousand years,” repeated the scientist as in a sort of retrospective rev- erie. , “Think of what you are asking! At one blow you are seeking to cut through the whole fabric that began with the black arts of Khmi, in Egypt, and that only now seems ended here on the summit of this mountain by the sea. In one moment you would consume the results of cen- turies of toil! Toil begun far back in the twilight of civilization, carried on by Aristotle and the Greeks, nurtured by Albertus Magnus, Bacon, and Aquinas, developed by Parélsus and Basil Valen- tine, by Lully and Spinoza, by Newton and an innumerable host of others. Come, come, my impetuous friend, by the shades of Hermes Trismegistus, you know not what you ask!’ “TI know only that I am dying—dying before my time! Save me!” “Save you? You, an individual, by sacrificing what should eventually belong to all mankind? This is no secret, I tell in you, with its toil-worn pedigree, its record of human agony and heart break, of suf- fering, madness, and death, to be divulged in a five-minute chat, or administered aft- er meals in a tablespoon, like any patent nostrum! First ask yourself whether you have the knowledge, the faith, the under- standing, and the fortitude, the purity of heart to risk—”’ “Why, what have all those got to do with my merely taking your drug?” As I am, behold me, content. (C(O) nn) (C 6)(0)©) <S (C(O)