Avon Fantasy Reader No. 8 — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

38. FRANCIS FLAGG “Could I visit my past if you had not lived your future?” ‘IT do not understand,” I said feebly. “It doesn’t seem possible that while I am here, actually, in this room, you should be able to travel ahead in time and find out what I shall be doing in a future I haven’t reached vetr: “That is because you are unable to grasp intelligently what time is. Think of it as a dimension—a fourth dimension—-which stretches like a Poad ahead and behind you.” eae ) “But even then,” I protested, “I could only be at one place at a given time on that road, and not where I am and somewhere else at the same second.” “You are never anywhere at any time,” replied the metallic voice, “save always in the past or the future. But I see it is useless to try to acquaint you with a simple truth, thirty thousand years ahead of your ability to under- stand it. As I said, I traveled five years into your future, Men were wrecking this building.” | | “Tearing down this place? Nonsense, it was only erected two-years ago.” “Nevertheless, they were tearing it down. I sent forth my visual ray to locate you. You were . . .” “Yes, yes,” I queried eagerly. “In a great room with numerous other men. They were all doing a variety of odd things. There was . . .” é At that moment, a heavy knock was heard on the door of my room. “What's the matter, Matthews?” called a loud voice. “What are you talking about all this time? Are you sick?” I uttered an exclamation of annoyance because F recognized the voice of John Peters, a newspaper. man who occupied the apartment next to mine. My first intention was to tell him I was busy, but the next moment I had a better idea. Here was someone to whom I could show the cylinder, and the creature inside of it! someone to bear witness to having seen it besides myself. I hurried to the door and threw it open. : “Quick,” I said, grasping him by the arm and hauling him into the room. “What do you think of that?” “Think of what?” he demanded. “Why of that there,” I began, pointing with a finger, and then stopping short, with my mouth wide open; for on the spot where a few seconds before the cylinder had stood, there was nothing. The envelope and the Ardathian had disappeared. | 3 AvutTHor’s Nore: The material for this manuscript came into my hands in an odd fashion. About a year after the press had ceased printing ‘garbled _ versions of Matthews’ experience, I made the acquaintance of Hodge. I asked him about Matthews: He said: | “Did you know they’ve put him in an asylum? You didn’t? Well they have. He's batty enough now, poor devil. He was always a little queer, I thought. “comicbooks.