Avon Fantasy Reader No. 9 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

dreadful ease—but even his calculating, disagreeable little mind recognized its pull, and a Dukedom was the price of his cooperation. All this passed vaguely and hastily through Kirwan’s mind, as he lingered in the doorway, still under the spell of his own creation. It was Kirwan who frowned, standing there, foreseeing trouble with his latest vassal-lord: it was ‘Kirwan who suddenly went back to the drawing-board, took up the India ink again, and quickly sketched something in the southeastern corner of Thorvia. But it was Henry who dropped pen and ink, nervously and ran to the door and down the stairs, at a repetition of the whining cry, “Hen reeeeee!” from downstairs. : He sat through an unattractive meal of boiled potatoes, cabbage, and a very poor grade of chopped beef, topped off by a bread-pudding that was mostly bread. What raisins there were, went to Charley: who had also engulfed the lion’s share of the chopped beef. Quantity, not quality, was his motto; and glands alone were not responsible for the hundred pounds that were Charley. The meal was enlivened by Aunt Martha’s monologue, mostly based on Henry, and never complimentary to him; with variations on Charley’s virtues and good, healthy appetite—so different from Henry, picking at his food, as if he shouldn’t be grateful to his dear auntie and uncle who provided his food; at what expense no one knew; and look how Charley likes to play outdoors— not always frowsting in his room, when he wasn’t in corners with those other © boys—and just what was it they did, anyway? Aunt Martha thought that she and Mrs. Daniels and Mrs. Clark and Mrs. Domenico (though Mrs. Domeni- co was not really a lady, to Aunt Martha’s way of thinking, though doubtless a good-hearted woman), and Mrs, Johnson ought to get together and find out just what was going on. You didn’t see Aunt Martha’s Charley— Panic, that had been growing in Henry as this speech rose to its crisis, flow- ered into speech, “It's—it’s just a club, Aunt Martha,” he stammered, rashly. “Just a club!” she sniffed, “And what kind of a club is it that is too good for my Charley?” : Henry’s panic subsided. This emergency had already been faced, and dealt with. He even smiled. | “Why, we elected Charley a member at the last meeting, Aunt Martha,” he said, looking at Charley. Charley’s face, which had worn a greasy, know- ing smile, suddenly took on a look of surprise, mingled with disbelief. He stared at Henry. “Ya did?” Astonishment and—yes, pleasure—even normal, little-boy pleas- ure, characterized his tone. 3 “Yes, Charley. You’re a full-fledged member of—the club now. Tell you about it after dinner. Aunt Martha was not going to give up quite so easily, although it was easy to see that she was mollified. 112 @@) Connicloooks