Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 47 — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

ROBOTS’ Mr. Mercer confidently lifted a hand to remove the offending white rook with his king, but then stopped. He frowned. He glowered. He saw his doom. He gave a little strangled cry of frustration. And he kicked the robot on the ankle. “T will not go,” said Carol to her father. “The whole thing is stupid, ridiculous, fantastic. Two robots playing chess against each other to decide whose master has more right to his vanity, What nonsense!” “T have explained to you, Carol,’’ said Mr. Mercer, “‘that we require two judges for this tournament. Michael will be one and you will be the other. Old Hobbs and myself are disqualified because, in effect, we will be playing, with each robot using the best of what it has learned from each of us. It will settle once and for all the question of who is the better player—me or Hobbs. Not that I have any question in my mind, but I’ve got to convince old Hobbs.” 93 GAMBIT “IT will net see that Mike Hobbs. I haven’t seen him for two months and I will not see him now.” “But for two months you have been miserable, young lady. Mike has called; he’s sent flowers, he’s written and wired and acted in every way like a gentleman. You love him; you know it and I know it. But if he isn’t con- vinced of it very soon, you'll lose him, and then you’ll have real cause to be miserable. Morphy, Miss Mercer’s coat, please.”’ The robot had it ready. “T won’t go,” said Carol, putting her arms into the sleeves. “It’s ridiculous. Do I look all right, father? What nonsense—a robot chess tour- nament! Is my mouth on straight? I’m only going to please you, father, you know.” “IT know, my dear. Is the car here or shall we take a cab?” Mike Hobbs opened the door. ‘Carol!’ he said. He moved to take her in his arms, but she pushed him away with dignity. “T’m here in an official comicbooks.conn