By CHARLES F. MYERS
Having Toffee the "dream-girl" around
was bad enough for Marc, but a ghost
named George was just too much.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic Adventures November 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
As a rule, in moments of acute peril, most faces can be relied upon toarrange themselves into the traditional expressions of open-mouthed,pop-eyed terror. Not so, however, the willful countenance of MarcPillsworth. The lean Pillsworth phiz, openly disdainful of the acceptedmanifestations of fear, regally side-stepped into something that lookedcuriously like tight-lipped primness. At the moment it had tieditself into such a knot of horror as to appear downright priggish.As the sidewalk split under Marc's feet, throwing him against theunforgiving granite of the Regent Building, the only expletive vigorousenough to force its way through his tightly pursed lips was a sadlydepleted, but nonetheless determined "damn."
What had just transpired was extremely upsetting, also quiteimpossible. Now, if Marc had been careless about looking where hewas going. But he hadn't. He had been fully aware of the suspendedsafe ... an object of considerable tonnage by the look of it ... andits precarious position outside the sixth story window. Danglingthreateningly out over the street like that, how could he have missedit? He had even taken special care to keep well outside the roped-offsafety area. And yet, when the pulley had slipped, and the safe begunto fall, it was as though the great hand of Satan, himself, had takenhold of it and hurled it directly at Marc. It had missed him not byinches, but by the merest fraction of an inch. It was impossible thatit should have happened that way; all the laws of physics forbadeit. However, for Marc, the morning was already fairly bristling withimpossibilities, and while this was not the least of them, neither wasit the greatest. Staring apprehensively at the great black lump, nowembedded in the sidewalk, he wondered if it were going to leap from itsresting place and crush him against the wall. He wouldn't have beenthe least bit surprised if it had. In the last few hours he'd come toexpect almost anything.
"Damn," he repeated breathlessly.
"You hurt, Bud?"
Marc directed bewildered eyes toward the entrance of the buildingand saw a workman running swiftly toward him. "No," he said weakly."It missed me. I'm all right ... I think. If you want me to sign astatement to that effect, I'll be glad to." He leaned down to flicka bit of cement dust from his trouser cuff and, because of a handthat was trembling badly, did a more complete job than was strictlynecessary.
If there was a hand, though, that had every right to tremble, it wasthe hand of Marc Pillsworth. Actually, it was a wonder the thing wasn'tthrashing about like a hooked tuna. His nerves, by now, were as tautand as prickly as the strands on a barbed wire fence.
It had all started early that morning when absenteeism had reared itsunlovely head among the ranks of his shirt buttons, thereby makinghim miss his bus. But Marc, long since hardened to life's minormisfortunes, had waited for a replacement, kissed Julie goodbye atthe completion of repairs, and gone in search of a taxi with a certainamount of equanimity. And he had even managed not to be too dismayedwhen, after going to some lengths to snare a cab, the perverse vehiclehad had a flat only two blocks from the apartment. It was not until,upon stepping out of the cab to inquire about the delay, he had lookedup to see a truck, out of control, heading directly for him