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Fantasy Fan, v. 1, issue 8, April 1934

Page 119

April, 1934, THE FANTASY FAN     119

dial to get ready for the carrier wave. My next call wasn't due for another two minutes so I watched my friend without any particular purpose in mind.
He reached a slow hand to his head and adjusted the phones on his ears a bit. Then both his hands dropped into position above the typewriter and I heard him say tonelessly, "Call-call-call--xxw2 call--" and then his voice clipped off like a voice in a broadcast clips off when a tube blows out.
Watching him I saw first that toe of his stop swinging. Something important I thought to myself. But then I began to sit up tense. In the first place, Ross hadn't touched his keys; in the second place he leaned forward on the chair and dropped his leg to the floor.
Now that may sound silly that I mention his leg dropping to the floor, but to a person that knew Ross as well as I did that is something. I had never seen it happen before.
I sat up stiff as a board. He had just reached up his two hands to the phones and was pressing them closer to his ears like the message was faint.
Now I knew something was up and I jumped from my chair.
"What's got into you, Norm?" I said, getting in front of him.
But he didn't seem to hear me or know I was there. He only pressed the earphones tighter. When I looked at his face, I was shocked. Only once before had I ever seen that rapt expression--when he got the call from London two years before at the end of that  three-month war telling how the whole city had been gassed and bombed, leaving not one soul alive.
I looked at the clock. It was a minute past the time for his regular call.
I shook his shoulder. "Listen here, Norm," I yelled. "You've got to get that call or--"
"Listen to this, Bob," he cut in, handing me the phones.
I put them about my ears. All I heard was a faint voice. I pressed the phones close as Ross had done. Then I distinguished it.
In strangely muffled tones, the voice came in, full of sharp hissing sounds and hard consonants. I could not understand a word.
I tore off the phones. "You fool!" I cried. "What's the idea of listening to some foreign station? Look!"--I pointed to the clock--"You're over a minute late on your regular call!"
Ross pointed to the wave-length dial. "See?" he said. "I've got it on the right wave. Eighteen point seven five meters."
I stared a moment in bewilderment. Sure enough, it was where it should be.
"Sure you want eighteen point seven five? Better check," I cried in a small panic, thinking of what Hegstrom would say.
Ross gave me a withering glance which said without words, "Sure I want it? Did I ever lose my memory.
"Well, I can't fuss around here," I said with  hasty glance at the clock. "My call is due in about ten seconds."
Before I took my call I cried to my friend. "Probably something wrong with the dial control. You better try and find your call on some other number."
Then I snapped my button. The carrier wave was already coming in. I had caught my call just in time.

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April, 1934, THE FANTASY FAN 119 dial to get ready for the carrier wave. My next call wasn't due for another two minutes so I watched my friend without any particular purpose in mind. He reached a slow hand to his head and adjusted the phones on his ears a bit. Then both his hands dropped into position above the typewriter and I heard him say tonelessly, "Call-call-call--xxw2 call--" and then his voice clipped off like a voice in a broadcast clips off when a tube blows out. Watching him I saw first that toe of his stop swinging. Something important I thought to myself. But then I began to sit up tense. In the first place, Ross hadn't touched his keys; in the second place he leaned forward on the chair and dropped his leg to the floor. Now that may sound silly that I mention his leg dropping to the floor, but to a person that knew Ross as well as I did that is something. I had never seen it happen before. I sat up stiff as a board. He had just reached up his two hands to the phones and was pressing them closer to his ears like the message was faint. Now I knew something was up and I jumped from my chair. "What's got into you, Norm?" I said, getting in front of him. But he didn't seem to hear me or know I was there. He only pressed the earphones tighter. When I looked at his face, I was shocked. Only once before had I ever seen that rapt expression--when he got the call from London two years before at the end of that three-month war telling how the whole city had been gassed and bombed, leaving not one soul alive. I looked at the clock. It was a minute past the time for his regular call. I shook his shoulder. "Listen here, Norm," I yelled. "You've got to get that call or--" "Listen to this, Bob," he cut in, handing me the phones. I put them about my ears. All I heard was a faint voice. I pressed the phones close as Ross had done. Then I distinguished it. In strangely muffled tones, the voice came in, full of sharp hissing sounds and hard consonants. I could not understand a word. I tore off the phones. "You fool!" I cried. "What's the idea of listening to some foreign station? Look!"--I pointed to the clock--"You're over a minute late on your regular call!" Ross pointed to the wave-length dial. "See?" he said. "I've got it on the right wave. Eighteen point seven five meters." I stared a moment in bewilderment. Sure enough, it was where it should be. "Sure you want eighteen point seven five? Better check," I cried in a small panic, thinking of what Hegstrom would say. Ross gave me a withering glance which said without words, "Sure I want it? Did I ever lose my memory. "Well, I can't fuss around here," I said with hasty glance at the clock. "My call is due in about ten seconds." Before I took my call I cried to my friend. "Probably something wrong with the dial control. You better try and find your call on some other number." Then I snapped my button. The carrier wave was already coming in. I had caught my call just in time.