Astounding British Edition, Vol. 9, No. 7 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

NULL-ABC by commended him. “Doug, you stay with Ray till I get back. Don’t let him out of your sight for an instant. At noon, have Miss Collins get lunches for both of you sent up; if ’'m not back by fifteen- hundred, take him to his home, and stay with him there.” For half an hour, Frank Cardon made a flying tour of Radical-Socialist borough headquarters. Even at the Manhattan headquarters, which he visited immedi- ately after his talk with Prestonby, the news had already gotten out. The atmo- ‘sphere of optimistic triumph which had undoubtedly followed Mongery’s telecast and his report on the Trotter Poll, had evaporated. The Literate clerical help was gathered in a tight knot, obviously enjoy- ing the reaction. In smaller and constantly changing groups, the volunteers, the paid helpers, the dirt-squirters, the goon gangs, gathered, talking in worried or frightened or angry voices. When Cardon entered and was recognized, there was a con- certed movement toward him. His two regular bodyguards, both on leave from the Literate stormtroops, moved quickly to range themselves on either side of him. With a gesture, he halted the others. “Hold it!” he called. “I know what you're worried about. I was there when it happened, and saw everything.” He paused, to let them assimilate that, and continued: “Now get this, all of you! Our boss, and—if he lives—our next senator, was the victim of a deliber- ate murder attempt, by Literate First Class Bayne, who threw out his supply of nitrocaine bulbs and then goaded him into a heart attack which, except for his daughter, would have been fatal. Claire Pelton deserves the deepest gratitude of every Radical-Socialist in the state. She’s . a smart girl, and she saved the life of her father and our leader. “But—she is not a Literate!” he cried loudly. “All she did was something any of you could have done—something I’ve done, myself, so that I won’t be locked out of my own safe and have to wait for a Literate to come and open it for me. She simply kept her eye on the Literates who were opening the safe, and learned the combination from the positions to which they turned the dial. And you a». nn PO ee dg ee, a ts -, af Se ene, ete in Hh a > b> a i A a as believe, on the strength of that, that she’s a Literate? The next thing, you'll be believing that professional liar of a Slade Gardner. And you call yourselves poli- ticians!” He fairly gargled obscenities. Looking around, he caught sight of a pair who seemed something less than impressed with his account of it. Joe West, thick-armed, hairy-chested, blue- jowled; Horace Yingling, thin and gangl- ing. They weren’t Radical-Socialist party — people; they were from the Political Action Committee of the Consolidated Illiterates Organization, and their slogan was simpler and more to the point than Chester Pelton’s—the only good literate is a dead Literate. He tensed himself and challenged them directly. “Joe; Horace. How about you? Satis- fied the Pelton girl isn’t a Literate, now?” Yingling looked at West, and West looked back at him questioningly. Evi- dently the suavitor in modo was Yingl- ing’s province, and the fortior in re was West’s. “Yeh, sure, Mr. Cardon,” Yingling said dubiously. “Now that you explain it, we see how it was.” It was worse than that in some of the other boroughs. One fanatic, imagining that Cardon himself was a crypto-Literate, drew a gun. Cardon’s guards disarmed him and beat him senseless. At another headquarters, some character was circulat- ing about declaring that not only Claire Pelton but her younger brother, Ray, as well, were Literates. Cardon’s two men hustled him out of the building, and, after about twenty minutes, returned alone. Cardon hoped that the body would not be found until after the polls closed, the next day. Finally, leaving his guards with the copter at a public landing stage, he made his way, by devious routes, to William R. Lancedale’s office, and found Lance- dale at his desk, seeming not to have moved since he had showed his agent out earlier in the day. “Well, we're in a nice puddle of something-or-other,” Cardon greeted him. “On top of that Gardner telecast, this morning—” “Guthrie Parham’s taking care of that, and everything’s going to be done to Comichooks (E@)