Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 56 — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

BRUTUS deep-freeze until we’re ready for it.” He looked at me. “Can you take care of the body ?” I don’t know what came into me then. Maybe it was because I knew that Clarkson would blame me for the death of his dog anyway—he was like that. Maybe it was be- cause I didn’t want to offend Slats and have no friends at all to stand by me when Clarkson wanted to fire me, which he did about every six weeks. Or maybe it was be- cause of the streak of the pure scientist in me, the same thing which had made me take the job at the Institute in the first place. Whatever it was, I nodded—and we set to work. I don’t like to think about what happened then. I helped Slats to administer the chloro- form and I’ll never forget the look in Brutus’s eyes as I held his head. If anyone ever tells you that an eye can’t hold expression, take it from me that they don’t know what 109 they’re talking about. That dog knew, and the way it looked at me brings me out in a cold sweat even now. Slats took care of the amputation, decapitation rather, and I had the unpleas- ant job of disposing of the corpse. I put it in the furnace, building up the fire until all the evidence had vanished, raking out the ashes and breaking up the bones, all the time in a frenzy in case Clarkson should walk in and see what I was doing. He didn’t, though. He posted a reward for the missing Brutus, and for a time looked almost human from grief and loss. I suppose each of us has a soft spot somewhere, and that dog must have been his. If Brutus hadn’t been as good as dead anyway I’d have felt a lot worse about the entire thing. Several days later Slats handed me a package and told me to burn it. I didn’t look inside, but I could guess what it was. He didn’t want comicloooks.cormn