OIL ECLIPSING COAL AS A WORLD FUEL
A MILLION DOLLAR SECRET
A Sensational Principle and Power that Guarantees Prosperity, Happiness and Supremacy
This subtle and basic principle of success requires no will power, no exercise, no strength, no energy, no study, no writing, no dieting, no concentration, and no conscious deep breathing. There is nothing to practice, nothing to study, and nothing to sell.
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WHY EVERY MALE IS A LATENT FEMALE
TRAILING THE NEW
ANTI-SEMITISM TO ITS
RUSSIAN LAIR
If You Want Prosperity, Abolish the Income Tax
JURYWOMEN AND MODESTY
SHOULD WOMEN SERVE AS JURORS IN DIVORCE CASES?
In England this whole matter has been widely discussed as a result of a recent disagreeable case in the London Divorce Court. Women were sitting in this Court for the first time. Part of the evidence was in the form of indecent photographs. The Judge was unwilling that the photographs should be shown to the women and suggested that the jurymen should look at the photographs and explain to the women as they thought fit the bearing of this evidence on the case.
EXCESS OF THE SEX-FACTOR IN FREUD’S METHODS
A NEW MENACE
IS BOLSHEVISM GETTING A GRIP ON THE CHURCHES?
Principles of Freedom, by Terence MacSwin-ey, late Lord Mayor of Cork (Dutton), is the self-revelation of a man who died for his beliefs. ... An “illuminating document, revealing the mentality of the Sinn Fein rank and file.” is what Mr. Boyd, himself an Irishman, calls this book. It has one single preoccupation, the independence of Ireland from England.
Experts are found who argue that one impression of cancer which had fallen into discredit may have to be revived and examined afresh. This is the notion, prevalent among the laity in some places, that an old house overrun by rats is a spreading center for cancer.
SIGNIFICANT SAYINGS
“My advice to men who cannot stand the sight of the loving meetings of minds and eyes—and in some cases lips—on a Fifth Avenue bus is to ride in the subway. Let the spooners spoon.”
—Sheriff Knott, N. Y. City.
“As a member of the male sex, I protest indignantly against the conclusion that all men are familiar with abominable things, and my sensibilities are less delicate than women’s.”
—G. Bernard Shaw.
The Sick World and the Shoplifter
The rabid determination of partizan politicians not to allow the United States to enter into any agreement with the rest of the world to stop war, the outbreaks of violence among the criminal classes, the determined efforts of the liquor interests to nullify the constitutional Prohibition amendment, the depression in business, the increase of unemployment, the strenuous effort of the agitators to make trouble between this country and Great Britain on one side and Japan on the other, all may be grouped with this pathetic spectacle of respectable women turned shoplifters as an indication of that other moral slump from idealism.
“Here it is, page 434,” Hank said.
Glinda put her pen aside and took the periodical. Hank came around the desk to stand behind her.
“That’s President Harding, sitting in the front row, third from the right.”
“A handsome but weak man,” Glinda said. “He’s not as honest as you said.”
“How can you tell?” Hank said.
Glinda did not reply. Instead, she pointed to Calvin Coolidge and Herbert Hoover, the Vice President and the Secretary of Commerce, respectively.
“These men should succeed this Harding in office, though in what order I don’t know.”
She pointed to Denby, Fall, and Daugherty, Secretary of the Navy, Secretary of the Interior, and Attorney General, respectively.
“Except for this one, these men will be disgraced or at least should be.”
She indicated Denby.
“He is probably innocent, but he will be disgraced, too.”
“Are you telling me that you can determine all that just from their photographs?” Hank said.
“I’m telling you nothing except what I just said.”
Having picked up a large paper, she unfolded it and spread it out on the desk. Hank was astonished again. It was a map of the United States of America.
“I took this when I left the letter for the Signal Corps,” she said.
“Now, just where is San Francisco on this map?”
Hank put a finger on the city.
“Just where is the green cloud in relation to the map?”
Hank indicated Fort Leavenworth.
“Have you ever been to this Palace Hotel your friend spoke of?”
“Once,” Hank said. “When I was sixteen.”
“Describe its location as best you can. I want all the details you can recall. And then draw a map for me.”
What is she up to? Hank thought.
When he was through, he handed the paper to her.
“Good. Do you have any metal fillings in your teeth or fixed bridges?”
Hank said, slowly, “No.”
“Good! Hank, would you like to go with me tonight?”
“Where?”
“To the Palace Hotel.”
“Wha...? I mean, you mean it?”
“It’s possible that we may not get there. But I’ll be trying very hard, and if all goes well, we’ll get there.”
“How?”
“That doesn’t matter as far as you’re concerned.”
“Are you planning to harm the President?”
“No. I will be honest with you, though. What I do may be interpreted as harm to your President. It will be necessary, however.”
“I’m your man.”
“I’m not finished. Wait until I’m through. You may be in grave danger if you go with me. There is always the chance that we could get lost. Or encounter something that might destroy us. I’ll explain what might happen in detail.”
When she had done so, she said, “I would not blame you at all if you refused. In fact, I am beginning to regret now that I did ask you to come with me. The reason I did is that I want you to be able to report to your people exactly what happened. If that, with what I plan to do, does not convince them, then they are fools.”
“You think they’ll be so scared they’ll lock up the gate to this world and throw away the key?”
“I hope so.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You’re sure that you’re not saying that because you think I might question your courage, look down on you?”
“I’m sure.”
“Very well.”
He went to his apartment and stayed there alone until 8:30 P.M. He did not even see the servants who brought his meals, They put the trays on the floor, knocked on the door, and were gone before he could get to the door. Lamblo did not come because Glinda would have told her to stay away. He was not to have any sexual relations or to talk to anyone. He exercised, and he lay on the bed trying to visualize the Palace Hotel and its environs. Though he had thought that he was too excited to sleep, he did so while visualizing.
He awoke just as the sun set. Nine minutes past seven. His watch was on standard time, so it would be 6:09 P.M. in California, which was on daylight saving time. The moon was approaching its last quarter here and also in Kansas and San Francisco. Glinda had said that she would have preferred a full moon, but this was better than an all-dark moon. She had not told Hank why.
He brushed his teeth after eating, bathed, washed his hair, and cleaned his toenails and fingernails. Glinda had told him to make sure that he did that. When he was dry, he put on only cloth slippers and a robe. The housekey and the wrist-watch were on a table.
He was surprised when he answered the knocks on the door. He had not expected that the queen would come for him. She was wearing cloth slippers and a robe with a monk’s hood shadowing her face. She gestured for him to come with her. Silent, Hank walked beside her along hallways, down stairs, and into the
southwest arm of the X-shaped castle. There was not a person, animal, or bird in sight, an unusual event. Glinda must have ordered everybody to stay away from this route.
She stopped before a very tall but very narrow door and unlocked it with a massive wooden key produced from a pocket of the robe. She went in, and Hank squeezed through it. He looked around while she shot a thick wooden bolt and laid the key on a table. This was the room into which he had looked when Glinda had gone through that wild ritual. It was vast and dark except for a few tiny lights on the walls and the torch on top of the four-faced sphinx. He felt a chill as if a winter draft was blowing over him.
Glinda led him to the far end where one of the little lights shone. A transparent sphere embedded in the stone held a glowing dust.
There was a huge low bed near the light, a bed the like of which existed nowhere else in the two worlds except in the castles of the Witches of the South and of the North and the castles which had been those of the Witches of the East and of the West. Even these were not quite like Glinda’s. It had white sheets and covers and pillows and was canopied by a silvery dome from under which hung an intricate array of mirrors. These would catch the “essence” of the travelers— whatever “essence” meant—and would reflect them from mirror to mirror—building up the velocity and density of the “essences,” so Glinda said—and would eject them through a silvery funnel.
The legs of the bed were silver and went through the floors of this room through the ceilings and floors of all below it and deep into the earth into a pool of mercury enclosed in thick glass.
Glinda touched a sphere on the wall, and it glowed as suddenly as an electric light turned on.
She signalled to Hank that he should remove his slippers and robe. He did so and put them on the floor where Glinda had shed hers.
Then she hooked her fingers into her mouth and removed a complete set of false teeth.
Oh, my God! Hank thought. How ugly that fallen face looks!
He should have expected this if he had been thinking clearly. Her body cells might renew themselves, but three centuries of wear would erode her teeth to stumps. Even she, with all her seemingly magical powers, could not grow new teeth.
She smiled at him as if to say, “See! I am no longer the beauty you craved, lusted for, burned with love for. I am, though a queen, also a subject of the worm.”
She put the false teeth on the pile of clothes and crawled into the vast bed. Hank went on all fours after her and lay down by her side. She rolled to the edge and lifted from the floor a thin wooden object carved in the form of a three-pointed star. There was a faintly glowing writing on it, but Hank could not make it out clearly in the dimness. She reached out her left hand and took his right. Holding the wood up before her, she looked at it while her lips moved silently. She read the characters on one ray of the star, then whirled it in the air, caught the next ray, read the forms on it, and then repeated the procedure to read the inscriptions on the third ray.
She must have known them by heart, but perhaps the ritual or operation required that she hold the object.
Sighing almost inaudibly, she placed the star on her magnificent breasts and closed her eyes. Hank had been told to close his eyes when she shut hers, and he did so.
He had just begun to visualize the Palace Hotel when he sank—or seemed to sink—through the bed. Though he opened his eyes—or thought he did—he could see only a grayness that seemed to twist in corkscrew fashion. For a moment, he screamed with terror as a baby fallen from its mother’s arms might scream. He could not hear his voice, but the crimson square waves pouring from his mouth and speeding ahead of him—downwards—must be screams. They looked like terror transformed into vibrations, a wavy watery route to Hell.
He did not know why he knew or felt that he was falling. Perhaps the silver shafts and the mercury pool were a sort of cannon firing him like a shell toward the glowing nickel-iron core of the planet. Though he had no reference point, he knew that he was hurtling downward.
He stopped screaming. At least, he was no longer consciously screaming. But the crimson waves still spewed out and raced ahead of him, narrowing far in the distance and forming a sharp point. As if they made the blade of an ice-breaking ship which was cutting a way for him through the grayness. He might be wrong in thinking that the waves were a “visible” projection of his terror. They could be something else. Or it might be that something unconscious in him was doing the screaming.
He slowed down, though he did not know why he knew that.
Glinda was not with him. But just as he “stopped” and began floating, the crimson waves dwindled, shooting back towards him like a cataract in a movie film running backwards. They did not disappear in his mouth, however, but stopped before him and curved upwards and down to form a bright sphere. And then the sphere became a shadowy semi-transparent Glinda.
She smiled and moved towards him, expanded, and enveloped him. The thought that he was inside her rolled his mind like a snowball racing down a slope.
She had taken him into her “womb” just in time. Something that he did not want to see or even hear about was moving about them now. Only Glinda kept the thing from closing its “jaws” around him. And she was in extreme peril, though he did not know how he knew.
“Up we go,” her voiceless voice said softly.
They “rose,” but the thing was close behind them. Hank felt that he was trembling and sweating, though not physically. He could not feel his body. All his Terrestrial senses seemed to be shut down or left behind him, but there were other senses that he could not define.
The grayness became a deep purple through which he could see or sense what seemed to be the intricate network of tree roots, moles digging, and writhing nests of worms and snakes. And there was a flash of a hollow in which the dim wavering shapes of gnomelike things hewed stone and hacked out metal and one seemed to be sitting in a stone chair and listening through earphones to something far below it.
They ascended from the crust of the earth and were inside the hotel, quivering ghostly stuff. He was no longer in Glinda; she was a phantom by him but more solid than the floors through which he was rising like metaphysical smoke.
Hank recognized the room in which they stopped. It was the bedroom of the suite in which his parents had slept when they had taken him to San Francisco. Somehow, Glinda had pointed him—and herself—toward it. They had headed toward it as surely as iron leaped, toward a magnet.
What if he had never been here? Could Glinda still have found her way? He felt that she would have been able to do so, though she would have had much more difficulty.
The man in the bed was Warren Gamaliel Harding, the President of the United States of America. The woman sitting on a chair by the bed and reading to him from a magazine was Florence Kling De Wolfe, Mrs. Harding.
There were also two nurses moving around as if they had nothing to do at the moment but were pretending to find work.
On a table by the bedside was a vase with a few long-stemmed roses and a clock. The clockhands were on 7:27.
Harding was much fatter, older-looking, and far less healthy-seeming than in the photograph Hank had shown Glinda. His haggard eyes stared up at the ceiling while he listened to his wife, but he was smiling slightly.
The room and its contents seemed to Hank to be behind thin white veils. Still, he could see everything clearly, though he could not hear, smell, or feel anything. Glinda had told him that she could have activated these senses if it had been necessary to do so, but that would have required more energy. She had also told him that she was in a “form” that differed slightly from his. He could not affect anything; he would be as intangible as ectoplasm. She, however, would be more “dense” and could, when the occasion demanded, briefly handle material stuff. She was floating by him now near the ceiling and holding in one hand an object that he had not seen when in the castle room. She must have picked it up in her right hand when she closed her eyes.
Had she broug
ht the actual object with her or was it an astral simulacrum of the object?
The President said something. Hank, lip-reading, thought that he said, “That’s good. Go on. Read some more.”
Then Harding shuddered, his mouth fell open, and his eyes looked fixedly at the ceiling, the lids unmoving. His wife rose from the chair and bent over him. Her lips worked in her emotionless face. The nurses came to the bed, and one felt Harding’s pulse. Then Mrs. Harding ran to the door and called out something. Several men hurried in, pushed the nurses away, and examined the body. One shook his head; one seemed to say, “Apoplexy.”
A BARNSTORMER IN OZ by Philip José Farmer Page 30
