Argosy (UK), January 1955 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

OSKAR’S WRONG NUMBER 9 can send me the money at the Hotel October First, in Molotov- strasse.”” They parted outside the café. Herr K., feeling expansive over his good bargain, offered to shake hands. This time it was Bela Kurtz who refused. ‘‘ Take good care of my Oskar,” he said, and walked slowly away. Two days later, a van with two huge crates arrived at the hippodrome. In one, an elaborately padded affair, Oskar the Incomparable was barking huffily. ‘The other contained his brushes, toys, and the huge chromium instrument he played. Herr K. marvelled at the naive folly of little Bela Kurtz in throwing in all the extras that had not been contracted for. The whole company gathered round the crates, standing slightly apart from Herr K., as they always did. When the end of the padded crate was swung aside, a large seal, handsomely sleek, with no mothy spots, bounced out, urping impatiently. His huge brown eyes, intelligent and inno- cent, swept the company like a smile of greeting. Catching sight of the handsome Madame Vera, he flopped gaily towards her, wriggling like a spaniel puppy. He nuzzled her neck with his velvety face and twitched his whiskers rap- turously as she rubbed his ears. From the first instant, Oskar was the undisputed star of the lot. His happy, clever face seemed to light up the great bare building and make the tinsel trimmings spark into life. Madame Vera unravelled the sweater she had been knitting for herself with the hard-to-get real wool and started a jersey for Oskar. Madame Feuer and her husband, the lion-tamers, drop- ped some of their military bravado when they sat on the edge of Oskar’s tank; they talked together as they had not for years. The Cossacks, simple peasant boys from the Kuban, swarmed around Oskar, petting and spoiling him with helpings from their meagre rations. Oskar seemed to love everybody impartially; he had no politics, no nationality. Sloshing around in the tank, he always had time for a sociable moment with anyone. He had a favourite joke of sneaking up behind people, nipping their legs very lightly and then bounding off, urp-urp-urping in an unmistakable practical joker’s laugh. He did it once to Herr K. and the circus-owner slapped his face. Oskar’s huge eyes looked shocked and he turned sadly away. After that, he would never play the instrument if Herr K. was anywhere in sight. This instrument was called an electro-melodeon. It looked rather like a large chromium marimba, except that instead of comicloooks.comn