"And then, one day, it happened. By some unfortunate chance, I got a little double-strength purple hectograph ink on my face. Noticing it in the mirror the next morning, as I was trying to decide whether to shave this week or not, I took a washcloth and tried to rub off the stain. Alas, poor fool that I was, I recked not of the consequences! "With hard rubbing, I managed to get some of the ink off, but when I went on rubbing, to remove the rest, the ink I had rubbed off was transferred back to my face. And so it went, the adament ink going from washrag to face and from face back to washrag. "The ink, as I have said, was double-strength purple undiluted, and suffered nothing in the process. But something had to give way. The washrag, by an unhappy coincidence, was a brand-new one, and my face was some years old. Only one thing could have happened. It did." Thus, shedding a tear on the carpet, the old stranger ended his weird tale. Getting slowly to his feet, he drew his hat down over his eyes once more, tied his socks around his neck more tightly, and shuffled off toward the shattered windows. At the sill, he turned, faced the room, and made one last parting shot, ere he vanished in the gloom. "_Dogs have fleas!_" he screamed. But sometimes I wonder. I'VE NEVER SEEN by Hannes Bok [Illustration] I've never seen a Flirtenflog. I've heard that it's a Martian dog. But science-fiction has romanced That the Martian race is much advanced; So thus my reasoning should be, Has a Flirtenflog ever seen ME?????? * * * * * _HAVE YOU TRIED READING_ freehafer's POLARIS? HANNES V: BOK ARTIST AS SEEN BY HANNES V: BOK CRITIC. [Illustration] Hannes Bok, born in Seattle. Age; 23. Arrived in New York in August, 1939. Is doing interiors and covers for Weird Tales and several other wellknown fantasy magazines. ninevah _by_ J. E. K_elleam_ They say the bittern and the cormorant Have nested in the upper lintels there. The wind builds flowers of dust upon the air, Lifting and falling, slow and hesitant. Within the crumbling temples beasts have laired; Eyeless the windows, broken the terraces; No laughter breaks the silence. The palaces Are weathered and the cedar work is bared. If this be glory's wage, then let me trust The fragile things that are not built of might, The lovely things that leave no trace when gone: The rose that swiftly turns into the dust, Beauty that blazed a moment----Or a night Of golden stars forgotten with the dawn. [Illustration] Do U Want Fans to Point At U & Say [Illustration]