Astounding Science Fiction (British edition) — page 129: what you’re looking at

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

STAMP FROM MOSCOW the talk gets ’round to a million bucks? The kid continued turning pages. “Sweden and Norway. Togoland. Israel. Mauritius—that’s an isalnd, Pop. And here’s some from New- foundland. And Russia—”’ “Russia?” My eyes popped open. “Vy am “Gosh! We sending mail there?” _ “Oh, but these are old stamps, Pop. Before the Revolution. Pictures of the Czar on them even. See? Ten kopeck, green. Half ruble. All pre-Bolshey, Pop. That is, all except—”’ He frisked about the pages a bit then stopped suddenly where there’s a solitary smali green stamp pasted in the center. *‘All except this one, Pop.” There’s pride in the kid’s voice. He tells me that he’s the only lad in the whole neighborhood who’s got a stamp like that. It’s so rare, in fact, that not even the latest catalogue shows it.” *“Maybe it’s the only one ever is- sued, eh Pop?” My kid’s eyes are big on me. “I’m keeping it. Jerry Schwartz offered me his hard-to-get yellow and green Bulgarian— ‘Rh?’ “It’s the only after-the-Revolution Rusky stamp any kid round here’s got,”’ went on my kid. “A 1951 issue!” "1951! Where’d you get it?” Well, the kid told me. Some other kid, who lives in Brooklyn and who had come up here to the Bronx on a visit and who knows hardly anything about old stamps, has a brother with the Marines in Korea. During a battle this Marine bumps a big-shot Chinese officer, and while searching him they find a letter with this funny looking stamp on it. The Marine knows his kid brother’s bugs on stamp collecting so he tears it off and sends it to. Brook- lyn. The kid brother, not knowing the stamp’s real value, swaps it off to my 127 Rueben for a Morocco half franc, a Netherlands blue 1930 issue and two Swiss air mails. At least that’s the story my kid gave me, and he ain’t much on lying. “Lookit, Pop,” he said, pointing. “Them Ruskies sure got funny no- tions about stamps. You'd think they’d put Stalin’s picture on them with his pipe in his mouth, but no. Just lookit this. A fat-faced guy smok- ing a big cigar! Don’t that blow your hat, Pop? Some picture to put on a stamp, eh?” He shoved the album under my nose and stared at me. It’s a big denomination stamp, unless there’s an Al inflation in the U.S.S.R. “One hundred rubles,’’ I read, for that much is easy to make out, even from the funny alphabet they use. “Wow!” I cried. ““Where’d that pack- age go to? Twice ’round the world?” eit Ss a letter, Pop, not parcel post,” corrected my kid. “Just the same, Son, one hundred berries, even in Rooshian money, ain’t hay.” I look hard at the bit of green paper. The fat-face guy with the cigar sticking out of him is clean-shaven, so it can’t be Old Joe. It ain’t Molotoff either. Maybe it’s ...no, Vishin- sky’s got a sorta skinny-like face. Besides he wears glasses. Or doesn’t he? I can’t remember. I ain’t seen a Vishinsky picture for a coon’s age. It ain’t no general, that’s sure. Gen- erals all wear stiff collars. A scientist, maybe, or even a poet? Tolstoy? No he had long whiskers. I tried to read the writing but all I could make out is the word “rubles” between the two “100s.” That’s where the money value is on all stamps anyhow. Besides their ““R” is almost like our own.’ I pulled the album close to the light and peered hard through my specs, There’s a black post office cancellation on the —— and I could make out conniclooolks.con