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Fanfare, issue 9, 1942
Page 13
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of lice & men 13 C: How many did you kill? Who? When? Were you followed? M: 'leventeen. Some men. A few women. Last hour. No. C: Good! Come closer. (M obeys. C jabs a hypo into him. M stiffens, but doesn't fall. C & H place M on the table.) C: Now I'll explain to you how he works so you can help build an army of monsters that all the armies of Earth can't stop! H: Let's go, chum. (Door is still open. C goes over to close it, but the Newshound enters first.) C: Who are you? Newshound: Just a reporter. Heard there were a few murders. One here. Others hereabouts. Who's the guy on the table? The victim? You guys detectives? C: Who told you there were murders here? N: Yngvi. C: Who's Yngvi? N: I dunno. Everybody sez he's a louse. C: What does he look like? N: Never saw him. C: Then how...? N: Speaks in yer mind. Mental telepathy, I guess. there's a rumor that . . . H: There's no truth to any rumor -- C: Never mind rumors! There's NO murder here. I am Prof Kindley. This is my assistant. The man on the table is a patient. Sleeping sickness. We're trying to wake him up. Goodbye. N: OK, goodbye. But let me know if anything breaks. (Exits) C: (Mutters aside) If anything breaks, it will be your head! (The curtain falls) Act Two - Scene One: Slan headquarters. A room decorated with pics of Vomaidens. Number One sits at his desk. The Newshound, the Poll Cat, and the Con Man stand before him. #1: You're slipping, Newshound! (Curses him in Esperanto.) ...Poll Cat! PC: Yessir! #1: you try to find out what's going on in prof K's lab. Go now! PC: Yessir! (Exit) Con Man: I came to see you about the next slan convention, sir. #1: Right! Newshound - take notes. Publish 'em in your sheet. Publicity. Con! CM: Yessir? #1: We're going to have an amateur dramatic production. Slans will act in it. Moffat wrote the script . . . (The curtain falls) Scene Two: The lab again. C and the Monster are absent. Pogo is tied to a chair. Pong sits on the table's edge gazing at Pogo in his inimitable way . . . Pogo: I almost smothered in that old closet, you yella beast! You killed my old man. Now I don't get no more weekly allowance-- (She sobs) H: Here, here - m'dear, your tears of sorrow wrench my heart. Can't we get along better? What the Cossack don't know won't hurt him. Come - come now . . . (He reaches for her hand.:)
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of lice & men 13 C: How many did you kill? Who? When? Were you followed? M: 'leventeen. Some men. A few women. Last hour. No. C: Good! Come closer. (M obeys. C jabs a hypo into him. M stiffens, but doesn't fall. C & H place M on the table.) C: Now I'll explain to you how he works so you can help build an army of monsters that all the armies of Earth can't stop! H: Let's go, chum. (Door is still open. C goes over to close it, but the Newshound enters first.) C: Who are you? Newshound: Just a reporter. Heard there were a few murders. One here. Others hereabouts. Who's the guy on the table? The victim? You guys detectives? C: Who told you there were murders here? N: Yngvi. C: Who's Yngvi? N: I dunno. Everybody sez he's a louse. C: What does he look like? N: Never saw him. C: Then how...? N: Speaks in yer mind. Mental telepathy, I guess. there's a rumor that . . . H: There's no truth to any rumor -- C: Never mind rumors! There's NO murder here. I am Prof Kindley. This is my assistant. The man on the table is a patient. Sleeping sickness. We're trying to wake him up. Goodbye. N: OK, goodbye. But let me know if anything breaks. (Exits) C: (Mutters aside) If anything breaks, it will be your head! (The curtain falls) Act Two - Scene One: Slan headquarters. A room decorated with pics of Vomaidens. Number One sits at his desk. The Newshound, the Poll Cat, and the Con Man stand before him. #1: You're slipping, Newshound! (Curses him in Esperanto.) ...Poll Cat! PC: Yessir! #1: you try to find out what's going on in prof K's lab. Go now! PC: Yessir! (Exit) Con Man: I came to see you about the next slan convention, sir. #1: Right! Newshound - take notes. Publish 'em in your sheet. Publicity. Con! CM: Yessir? #1: We're going to have an amateur dramatic production. Slans will act in it. Moffat wrote the script . . . (The curtain falls) Scene Two: The lab again. C and the Monster are absent. Pogo is tied to a chair. Pong sits on the table's edge gazing at Pogo in his inimitable way . . . Pogo: I almost smothered in that old closet, you yella beast! You killed my old man. Now I don't get no more weekly allowance-- (She sobs) H: Here, here - m'dear, your tears of sorrow wrench my heart. Can't we get along better? What the Cossack don't know won't hurt him. Come - come now . . . (He reaches for her hand.:)
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