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Fantascience Digest, v. 2, issue 1, Novermber-December 1938

Page 21

FANTASCIENCE DIGEST                          Page 21

   "Me?" the man growled. "Mad? Me, Professor Hart Burns, mad?"

   "Yes," the girl added. "Nuts."

   I broke into the conversation. "Miss Burns, are you doing anything tonight? I have two tickets for the Planetarium--"

   "I never planet," she said coldly. I muttered a curse.*

   Then I jumped. Somebody had stuck a pin in me. As I turned I saw the professor sheathing a hypodermic syringe in his pocket and eying me intently.

   "Hey!" I said. "What's the idea?"

   "I would have preferred a human subject," he said absently. "However, simian experimentation will have to answer my purpose. You, my dear fellow, have the honor to be inoculated with my disassociated-sub-atomic-sensory-evolution serum. Within a short time you will be--er--changed." 

   And I did feel queer. "What's happening?" I gulped.

   "Your body is composed of cells of atoms, all of them subservient to a single will. My serum dissolves this linkage. At present your body is a monarchy. It will break up into republics--of cells and atoms and groups of cells. Each of them will have its own individual life and intelligence."

   I swallowed convulsively. Something said, "Ouch! Almost got me that time! Look out--here I come!"

   And a small red object jumped out of my mouth and bounced on the carpet. It was my tongue. It was a horrid spectacle.
------------------------------------------------------------
*Sapristi! 

   The tongue twitched slightly. It started to sing the Internationale. I fell apart. My arms slid down and departed. My feet skidded off the carpet and started tapdancing in a frenzied manner. In a word, I disintegrated.

   Just then the doorbell rang.

   A pang of agony raced through me. I had invited Mr. Smith, a well-known editor, to dinner. What would he think if he saw me in this condition? I determined not to let him in. I couldn't, anyway, because my feet were now tumbling over and over trying to get out of my shoes, and my hands were snapping their fingers at each other in a marked manner. But, unfortunately, I heard the door open and somebody walk in.

   "See you later," said the professor, vanishing into the bookcase, followed by Sandra. I groaned inwardly. A voice called, "Stinky! Where are you?"

   I made no answer. But my various portions rushed hastily out of the room, and I was compelled to follow. Mr. Smith was sitting quietly in a chair, staring around inquisitively. 

   Now there is a large statue of General Grant, cast in bronze, in the corner. Imagine my horror when I saw one of my arms stealthly climb up it and attach itself firmly to he shoulder. Meanwhile furtive movements told me of other things going on. 

   My tongue concealed behind a flower-pot, suddenly said insultingly, "You, Mr. Smith, are a weasel."

   Mr. Smith jerked around with a slight start. He looked about and then subsided, only to pause as he noticed a flicker of movement about the bronze statue. General Grant's arm was moving. With slow and horrible deliberation it arose, until the thumb touched the metallic [non?]

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FANTASCIENCE DIGEST Page 21 "Me?" the man growled. "Mad? Me, Professor Hart Burns, mad?" "Yes," the girl added. "Nuts." I broke into the conversation. "Miss Burns, are you doing anything tonight? I have two tickets for the Planetarium--" "I never planet," she said coldly. I muttered a curse.* Then I jumped. Somebody had stuck a pin in me. As I turned I saw the professor sheathing a hypodermic syringe in his pocket and eying me intently. "Hey!" I said. "What's the idea?" "I would have preferred a human subject," he said absently. "However, simian experimentation will have to answer my purpose. You, my dear fellow, have the honor to be inoculated with my disassociated-sub-atomic-sensory-evolution serum. Within a short time you will be--er--changed." And I did feel queer. "What's happening?" I gulped. "Your body is composed of cells of atoms, all of them subservient to a single will. My serum dissolves this linkage. At present your body is a monarchy. It will break up into republics--of cells and atoms and groups of cells. Each of them will have its own individual life and intelligence." I swallowed convulsively. Something said, "Ouch! Almost got me that time! Look out--here I come!" And a small red object jumped out of my mouth and bounced on the carpet. It was my tongue. It was a horrid spectacle. ------------------------------------------------------------ *Sapristi! The tongue twitched slightly. It started to sing the Internationale. I fell apart. My arms slid down and departed. My feet skidded off the carpet and started tapdancing in a frenzied manner. In a word, I disintegrated. Just then the doorbell rang. A pang of agony raced through me. I had invited Mr. Smith, a well-known editor, to dinner. What would he think if he saw me in this condition? I determined not to let him in. I couldn't, anyway, because my feet were now tumbling over and over trying to get out of my shoes, and my hands were snapping their fingers at each other in a marked manner. But, unfortunately, I heard the door open and somebody walk in. "See you later," said the professor, vanishing into the bookcase, followed by Sandra. I groaned inwardly. A voice called, "Stinky! Where are you?" I made no answer. But my various portions rushed hastily out of the room, and I was compelled to follow. Mr. Smith was sitting quietly in a chair, staring around inquisitively. Now there is a large statue of General Grant, cast in bronze, in the corner. Imagine my horror when I saw one of my arms stealthly climb up it and attach itself firmly to he shoulder. Meanwhile furtive movements told me of other things going on. My tongue concealed behind a flower-pot, suddenly said insultingly, "You, Mr. Smith, are a weasel." Mr. Smith jerked around with a slight start. He looked about and then subsided, only to pause as he noticed a flicker of movement about the bronze statue. General Grant's arm was moving. With slow and horrible deliberation it arose, until the thumb touched the metallic [non?]