Avon Fantasy Reader No. 13 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

* that geologist; he was such a half-baked looking creature, fairly smelling of chalk and blackboards, oc “Quite,” was France’s answer. “And he’s got all sorts of degrees; look _lovely on a prospectus.” “Maybe,” was all I answered. I heard afterwards that Smith’s degrees were more showy than practical, from our point of view—B.Sc., F.G.S., and some- thing else that I forget; paleontology was his special game, and he knew next to nothing about metals. France had got him cheap because he had been ill, and needed a change. France, it appeared, meant to make full use of Mr. Rattray Smith’s shining degrees in the forthcoming prospectus; meantime, as he somewhat coarsely put it to me, he intended to “stuff the blighter up for all he was worth.” ~ “You go and take him for a walk,” he said to me now. “Show him the workings, and help him with his notes. I’ve got to see the machinery ashore.” I didn’t want to see that machinery land; I knew only too well what it would be—old, tired stuff that had been dumped on half-a-dozen wharves, for the deluding of share-hotders, in many places; stuff never meant to be used, only to be charged at four times its value in expense accounts. ... I took Smith to the workings; showed him the ore, lowered him down the shaft, displayed the various tunnels. I said not a word. He could delude himself if he liked; I meant to have no hand in it. Perhaps he was not such a fool as he looked; perhaps, I cynically told myself, he was more knave than fool. At all events, he said very little, and took only a few notes. I began to like him better, in spite of his horn-rimmed glasses and his academic bleat. | | “Look here,” I said, as we were returning to the house. “I’ve been all over the damned island, and I'll eat any payable stuff you find.” “All over?” he said, cocking one currant-colored eye at me through his glasses. | I began to think he might not be such a fool as he looked. Clearly he had sensed a certain reserve that lay behind my speech. “Well,” I said, not.caring enough about him to mince words, “there’s a warren of caves down on the wind’ard side of the island and I tried to in- vestigate the biggest one the other day.” “What did you find? Any indications?” he squeaked. “Couldn’t tell you. I was stopped by a beast. Nightmare beast, with eyes as big as plates. Hadn’t a gun with me, but I meant to have a go at it later on.” “But that’s—but that’s most—” he began to stammer eagerly. France, who had gone to the house for a drink, looked out of the window, and interrupted me. oe 2 “What's this about beasts, and why are you making slugs for your silly old shotgun?” he demanded. | | I told him. : | “You've got ‘em too,” was his only comment. This, for some reason or other, made me desperate. “That's not the whole of it,” I said. “Last night I saw a thing as big as six elephants chasing a little thing in the dark.” 21 Eomicbooks e N = te) o ry Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys: Kentuck~ oe ao pepsi hic Orchactrn: I'va Goat Mv lave in Kean (eo) —