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Fanfare, v. 2, issue 2, whole no.8, February 1942
Page 11
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For Whom The Bells Toll by Harry Jenkins There was once a smart guy named Alexander Graham Bell. There was once a dope named Joe Gilbert. There was also a fair heroine, one Trudy Kuslan. There was also thirteen dollars belonging to Gilbert. Which is enough for a saga . . . After the usual formality of carefully forcing their way into MacQueen's garage apartment, the three super genii, Eastman, Jenkins, and Gibert started talking. The talking was all right, but the glances at the utterly innocent telephone caused Mac much perturbation. Mrs. MacQueen (who will hereinafter be referred to as Edith) sat in her favorite chair reading LOVE STORIES. She was unaware of the impending disaster. Suddenly she looked up, and Mac, moistening parched lips, motioned meaningly toward the kitchenette. As soon as Mac's figure disappeared, The Great Gilbert's eyes shone. In fact, they actually gleamed. The Eastman started to recite "Annabel Lee", while Jenkins merely snarled. A soft, trilling sound came from Joe's lips. (He was trying to imitate Doc Savage). Evidently Mac heard him, for he muttered something about "--dam' cars startin' up this late at night." "Che was a child and I was a child," Said Eastman, who stood with his head uplifted, arms outward. "G-r-r-r-r," growled Jenkins. Gilbert seemed possessed. And not with Paul Jones. Slowly, oh, so slowly, he inched toward the telephone stand. "In that kingdom by the sea," Eastman went on. "G-r-r-r! Urp!" Jenkins had noticed Gilbert extracting the telephone book from the drawer. Slowly and deliberately, Joe dialed long distance and spoke: "--179 Washington Avenue, West Haven, Conn." "It was many and many --" Eastman droned as the refrigerator door slammed in the kitchenette. "The residence of Miss Gertrude Kuslan."
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For Whom The Bells Toll by Harry Jenkins There was once a smart guy named Alexander Graham Bell. There was once a dope named Joe Gilbert. There was also a fair heroine, one Trudy Kuslan. There was also thirteen dollars belonging to Gilbert. Which is enough for a saga . . . After the usual formality of carefully forcing their way into MacQueen's garage apartment, the three super genii, Eastman, Jenkins, and Gibert started talking. The talking was all right, but the glances at the utterly innocent telephone caused Mac much perturbation. Mrs. MacQueen (who will hereinafter be referred to as Edith) sat in her favorite chair reading LOVE STORIES. She was unaware of the impending disaster. Suddenly she looked up, and Mac, moistening parched lips, motioned meaningly toward the kitchenette. As soon as Mac's figure disappeared, The Great Gilbert's eyes shone. In fact, they actually gleamed. The Eastman started to recite "Annabel Lee", while Jenkins merely snarled. A soft, trilling sound came from Joe's lips. (He was trying to imitate Doc Savage). Evidently Mac heard him, for he muttered something about "--dam' cars startin' up this late at night." "Che was a child and I was a child," Said Eastman, who stood with his head uplifted, arms outward. "G-r-r-r-r," growled Jenkins. Gilbert seemed possessed. And not with Paul Jones. Slowly, oh, so slowly, he inched toward the telephone stand. "In that kingdom by the sea," Eastman went on. "G-r-r-r! Urp!" Jenkins had noticed Gilbert extracting the telephone book from the drawer. Slowly and deliberately, Joe dialed long distance and spoke: "--179 Washington Avenue, West Haven, Conn." "It was many and many --" Eastman droned as the refrigerator door slammed in the kitchenette. "The residence of Miss Gertrude Kuslan."
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