Avon Fantasy Reader No. 11 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

eyes, making the brown pupils glow like tarnished garnets. ‘Damme, sir, men have been shot for less impertinence!’ he burst out. Then, seeming to cool as suddenly as he had blazed, ‘Never mind; perhaps you're right, lad. My quarrel’s with the old woman, not her dog. I reckon anger made me childish for a moment.” He shook his heavy shoulders in disgust. “Come on, let's leave this filthy hole.” They recrossed Spellman’s well-kept land and came out on the highroad just as a small roadster swung around the bend. “Good morning, Judge; good morning, sir,” the driver called as he brought his car to a halt. ‘Give you a lift back to the club?” “Yes, thank you, we'd appreciate it, Doctor,” Crumpacker answered as he introduced Harrigan. Dr. Clancy was a man in early middle life, somewhere between forty- five and fifty, Harrigan surmised, smooth-skinned, clean-shaven, with a youthfulness and vigor which denied the nests of little wrinkles at the cor- nets of his eyes and the streak of white that ran with startling contrast through his smoothly brushed black hair. His eyes were blue and kind and very knowing—"“‘true Irish eyes” thought Harrigan—but there was an inde- finable something about him which was puzzling. Men without women— priests, explorers, sailors, some soldiers—bear the mark of their denial stamped on them. Dr. Clancy seemed to have it. He would have seemed more properly attired in a Roman collar and black cassock vest, rather than the corduroys and flannel shirt he wore. The little satchel on the seat beside him seemed more like a small suitcase than a medicine kit, too; but... He broke his idle speculations off, for Judge Crumpacker had been pour- ing out the story of his grievances to Dr. Clancy, not omitting his suspi- cions of witchcraft, and Dr. Clancy was not laughing. “Because the law does not admit a thing is no reason for denying its existence,” he was say- ing. “Lee DeForest was threatened with prosecution for fraud when he in- troduced the ionic current detector for radio, and there are many people who remember when the Patent Office refused to consider applications for heavier-than-air flying-machines, just as it rejects claims for perpetual mo- tion devices today. The Lafferty family’s history is not good. The founder of the local branch was prosecuted twice for cruelty to his Negroes, and finally deported from the colony on a charge of trafficking with Satan. An ancestress of theirs was burned as a witch in England in the reign of James I. Miss Lucinda was a noted beauty in her day, but though she had three -fomances none of them was ever consummated. All three engagements were broken, and all three lovers died shortly after their estrangement—each in exactly the manner she had foretold.” Harrigan Jaughed. “You think that she’s a witch, too? Perhaps the cat the Judge saw yesterday was really Miss Lucinda—” The seriousness of the other's face halted him. “The Lord forbtd that I make any accusations of that kind lightly,” Dr. Clancy answered, “but if we admit for the sake of argument that she has the power of witchcraft she might have been the cat, or even the strange mongrel that you saw today.” 10 Comicbooks.com