Avon Fantasy Reader No. 14 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

the room were the broken parts of several dozen soldiers. It was wrong the way the boy kept breaking them. Why couldn’t they be fixed up? That night when Ronald was setting up his soldiers—all that were left unbroken—Wilburts brightly said, “The thing to do is to solder the broken parts together. Don’t just chuck them out that way. How about it, Ronald?” The boy turned toward him, “Don’t you see, that doesn't do any good. When a soldier is dead, he’s dead. You can’t stick him together and make him a soldier again. He’s just a statue.” I give up, thought Wilburts. The next morning Jeffry found the boy picking up the usual broken and twisted soldiers. More than ever the lad’s bedroom looked like the scene of a horrendous battle. The thought appealed to Wilburts. World campaigns fought on a small scale with toy soldiers! It was intriguing. All through the day the boy moped, showing little interest in anvthing. Dark circles under his eyes testified to the fact that he had not slept too well. He answered solicitous queries from his mother asking how he felt with short replies. As night approached he excused himself and went upstairs early. Mr. Frost harrumped the whole business off. Mrs. Frost thought maybe he was coming down with something. Jeffry Wilburts, after saying good night himself, de- cided to go upstairs and see what was going on. With greater care than ever before Ronald was arranging his blank-faced little soldiers—at his bed table and on the floor around his bed. Jeffry sat im the chair by the washstand and watched, ignored by young Frost. “You haven't very many left,” accused Wilburts. “Not enough tonight, not nearly enough,” replied the boy half to himself. The preparations went on for some time and then Ronald undressed him- self and got into bed. “Good night, Mr. Wilburts.” Somewhat taken aback at the lad’s perfunctory attitude the tutor mumbled good night and left the room. Several hours later, in his own chamber, it sleepily occurred to the half-awake Wilburts that it might be a good idea to watch the youngster for a while. And when he got up in the night to step on his soldiets in some perversion of fantasy, why Jeffry would catch him red- handed. Grabbing a large loose-leaf notebook in which to jot down anything of worth and sticking a pencil in his pocket he stole down the corridor, opened Ronald’s door ever so softly and crept into the darkened room. Ah, the chair by the washstand. That would be a fine vantage spot. The man seated himself and settled into the most comfortable position. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, the room began to assume shape. The bedtable and the bed loomed up slowly out of the blackness. The softly breath- ing bundle on the bed was Ronald. His pupils enlarging to compensate for the gloom, Jeffry began to make out the little knots of soldiers, some of them his gift to Ronald, around the room. He smiled to himself. Now just wait for that little imp to get up and start to break his soldiers just as ain excuse to get some new ones! Time at night and in the dark barely exists. It is the hand of a watch slowly creeping around a luminous dial, the slow breathing of a hurnan, the 59 comicloooks. conn