Amazing Stories, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

DR. BRITTLESTONES METHOD by Samuel M. Sargent Jr. Author of “The Telepathic Pick-Up” HEN Dr. Aro Brittlestone came through the door of my inner office I had the im- pression of a bull charging in at me. Brit- tlestone was an inch or two above six feet <2“! in height, big boned, and big framed. His skeleton would have delighted the eye of a bone special- ist, or so I imagined from the outer appearance of the man. This structure carried a maximum of flesh, and a minimum of fat. He weighed over two hundred pounds, all solid, hard bone and muscle. He was a crudely constructed man from his huge feet to his coarse, black hair, and there was a common strain in him that had been but thinly concealed by his educa- tion, his advent to a society that was above him, and the better environment that success had given him. He had acquired by hard work and driving ambition an ease of manner and a pseudo-refinement that were really to his credit. I had never met Brittlestone until the day he entered my office, coming without appointment, pushing his way in past the attendant and a whole roomful of my patients. But I had heard of him long before, when his sanatorium in the Mendalato Mountains had gained some fame, a fame that had never waned, and that was even now steadily increasing. He himself seemed to be a quite skillful physician, and the many who had come under his care were only too ready to speak a good word for the sanatorium. He catered to the extremely wealthy, I understood, but he kept a cer- tain number of charity cases always, some ten or twenty. In the six years that his sanatorium had been in existence, he had, I imagine, put away quite a sum; he maintained a. place in so- me, he thrust forth a hand that much grooming had failed to make attractive. After a moment of hesita- tion, I shook hands with him, invited him to be seated, and waited questioningly and none too cordially to learn his mission. He dropped into the chair, crossed his legs, and puffed once on his huge, black cigar. This was the only time that I ever saw him without the cloak of cultivated, watchful dignity that had almost become a part of him. Perhaps his lapse into a coarse self-sufficiency on our first meeting tinged my whole opinion of him, and overshadowed later impressions that would have been more pleasant. “Fine spring we're having, isn’t it?” he remarked, evidently in no hurry to state his object, and uncon- scious that he was taking up time that I could better have devoted to my practice. Thereafter he rambled on casually upon unimportant subjects until I was in an excellent murder mood. But there was a fascination about the man that almost reconciled me to the lost time, and prevented my brusquely terminating the interview. The ruggedness. of him, his huge bulk, and the stark coarseness of every feature made a striking ensemble, with the veneer that he had acquired. I noted particularly his very peculiar eyes. They were almost hidden by huge under- lids, until they gazed from small slits that scarcely re- vealed the deadness of the iris, and the lacklustre hight of the pupil. His carefully trimmed, black Vandyke beard was thin so that the outlines of his chin showed through. Brittlestone, as he talked along, was studying me, too. I had the feeling that from their flesh burrows those dull-lit eyes were ciety, a place he had carved ° out for himself by sheer force and lavish expendi- ture. He was known in his circle, I believe, as gener- ous to prodigality. Yet I never saw a mat who FT ee ig another slory by Samuel M. Sargent, Jr., who comes rapidly ahead as an authority ms scientifiction. The thoughts contained in this story are certainly not only most unusual, but the science is extaordinarily good. You will not know until the final ending just what happened, and you will find the ending bizarre and amazing enough. A most excellent story throughout. reaching out, taking every impression of me, and stor- ing them away in an alert, active brain. Whether impressed with my impatience, or rebuffed by my monosyllabic replies, looked so avidly on money. The morning I met him, when he loomed so huge in the doorway, had promised to be a particularly busy one for me. I glanced up in annoyance at his abrupt entrance, but Brittlestone ap- parently failed to notice my attitude. —— ~ Dr. Strang?” he asked heartily, his thick lips parted ina smile. He came to a pause, close before me, and gazed down from his commanding height with cordi- ality in his small eyes. “I’m Brittlestone of Happy Lane in the Mendalatoes.” Content that this was introduction enough, and evi- dently certain that his name was a familiar one to 120 ‘time perhaps. Brittlestone presently lost his ease of manner, and be- came obviously embarrassed. Abruptly he rose, “Well, doctor, I’m afraid I’ve taken up too much of your valuable time, and I humbly apologize, but when I started up here to see you, I had a certain proposition in mind.” He hesitated. “It—well, it really was nothing vital, and hardly warranted my intrusion. Something I shall broach to you at ariother Perhaps I’ll be in, and see you some- time again soon.” : —— “Do so,” I replied, shaking his hand. He stood hesitantly a moment, seemed about to add COmICHOOKS.COm