Avon Fantasy Reader No. 14 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

Tubby’s two friends nodded. “How long is that table, Jake?” “Bout four feet,” the first man estimated promptly. “An’ how wide?” “’Bout three feet.” “An’ how high?” “*Bout three—maybe three an’ a half.” “Take a look with two eyes, Jake. How big does it look now?” Quite evidently the first man saw no remarkable change. He shrugged. “I ain't sayin’ it’s exactly that big,” he stated cautiously, obviously fearing trap. “What you gettin’ at?” Tubby’s fat litte forefinger shot out suddenly, pointing accusingly directly to his friend’s face. “You was only lookin’ with one eye, but you give me three dimensions! Ain't that proof what you said was bunk? Ain’t it, or is it? That’s all I ask.” He leaned back on his pillows, exhausted but victorious. “He's right, Jake,” agreed the second man. “You give three dimensions. Tt must be buak.” A white-robed nurse glided noiselessly into the room. “Are you ready, Mr. McGuire?” Tubby sat up with alarm. “Yeh, I guess so. Where’m I goin’?” A dapper little interne was pulling forward an invalid’s wheel chair. “The operation takes place up-stairs—in the operating room,” said the nurse sweetly. “Dr. Blake, will you take him up? They're ready for him now.” She lett the room. Tubby, thoroughly frightened, was bundled into the wheel chair with a blanket wrapped about him. The chair started to roll away. “Come on, Jake,” he said weakly. “Come on, Pete. Stick around—we're goin’ upstairs,” The young doctor laughed; and in the hall outside he waved Tubby’s friends away. “You can see him back in the ward in about an hour. It’s not a serious operation, We've only kept him in bed because of his other injuries. You wait downstairs—I'll send for you,” An elevator door opened smoothly. “But them’s my pals,” Tubby protested faintly. There was a little bump as his chair rolled into the elevator—a bump like a coffin hitting the bottom of a grave. “Listen here, doctor—them's my pals—” The elevator door slid closed. It was all inexorable—as death. The elevator shot noiselessly upward, “S'long, Tubby.” The first man’s voice floated faintly upward from far below. “S’long, Tubby. You ain't goin’ to die. See you later,” If. The fittle cone over Tubby’s face was horribly sinister. They told him to draw a deep breath, and he did. He had decided now that this operation was 31 comicbooks.com