Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories January 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. The Chameleon Man By WILLIAM P. McGIVERN Perfect adaptation, that's what it was. When a human being can blend with his surroundings, funny things can happen! * * * * * [Illustration] I've got an office in the _Daily Standard_ building and sometimes when things are slow in my line--theatrical bookings--I drift upstairs and talk to the guy who writes the column, The Soldier's Friend, for the _Standard_. On this particular morning I walked into his office and found it empty so I sat down and waited, figuring he was downstairs getting a mug of coffee. After I cleaned my nails and glanced through Jake's mail I propped my feet up on the desk and relaxed. Things in my line were strictly stinkeroo. With the army taking an option on every available hunk of male flesh, it made it pretty tough to get acts together. Of course, I still had a few dollies to peddle, but the situation don't look too good there, what with the WAVES and the WAACS and the demand from factories for powder-puff riveters. I sighed and moodily contemplated my uncreased trouser legs and thought of my non-existent bank balance. Whoever said war was hell, sure hit the nail on the head. The door opened and I heard a shuffle of footsteps on the floor. I tipped my derby back and looked up, expecting to see Jake, but the office was empty. The door was standing open and I scratched my head. Maybe it had blown open. Then I remembered the sound of footsteps I'd heard and my bewilderment increased. "Hello," a voice said. My feet came down from the desk with a crash. I sat up straight and stared about the small room. "Who said that?" I demanded. "I did. I'm right here." It was the same voice and I jerked my head in the direction of the sound. For an instant I didn't see a thing. But then, my eyes seemed suddenly to focus, and I saw a tall, lanky young man standing a few feet from me. He had a shock of straw colored hair and mild blue eyes. He wore a light suit. "Can you see me now?" he asked, and his voice sounded strained, as if he were exerting himself in some manner. "Yes, I can see you," I said. I was a little nettled. "What do you mean coming in and scaring people that way?" "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just can't help it. I'll have to relax now." "You'll have to what? Are you--"