YOU CAN'T SCARE ME!
By CHARLES F. MYERS
Toffee knew that Marc Pillsworth was
in trouble again, so she came out of
his subconscious mind to help him.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic Adventures March 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Whether or not they had passed through the portals of Earl Carroll's,the girls that threaded their way daily through the offices of MarcPillsworth's advertising agency were undeniably some of the mostbeautiful in the world. It was probably this abundance of beauty, morethan anything else, that caused Marc to shun the more seamy things inlife. It was this also that made it so doubly unbearable that, ninetimes out of ten, every time his office door opened, it was only toadmit to his presence one of nature's most vulgar experiments withAmerican womanhood. What Marc, by marrying Julie, had gained in a wife,he had quite certainly lost in a secretary.
Miss Quirtt closed the door primly and turned to face Marc—veryeasily the nastiest thing she could possibly have done to anyone.As always, just to add stark horror to the picture, she smiled andrevealed to her unappreciative employer that she had accomplishedthe extremely doubtful triumph of whitewashing the old fashioned cowcatcher, without, in any way, detracting from its accustomed appearanceof up-swept grandeur. The proof of this lay in the sudden appearanceof her amazing teeth. As the tight, dry skin of her face drew back toreveal this hideous accomplishment, it was hard to believe that theaccompanying creaking sound that echoed through the room, was only atrick of the imagination.
"Yes, Mr. Pillsworth?" she inquired, and thereby added to this alreadyastonishing display of hideosities, the horror of her voice, which heldall the melody of a palsied hand searching vainly for the key of E on arusty guitar.
Marc shuddered and quickly turned his gaze to a strip of oak panelingwhich had suddenly become, to him, an object of indescribableloveliness. He had only lately come to know why Julie had insisted onthe employment of Miss Quirtt. The very qualities which he now foundso repulsive had been, to his wife, the attributes that made the womanso desirable for the job. It might as well be admitted that Julie hadbecome unreasonably jealous of Marc's association with a group of girlsthat seemed to her, pretty stiff competition for the most glamorous"Glamour Chorus" in town, let alone herself.
"Well," Marc said with false heartiness, "today is the day, MissQuirtt. Will you please bring me the layouts for the Reece campaign?I'm going to submit them this afternoon. You have the key to that file,I believe?" He tried hard not to hear her answering rasp, and heaveda sigh of relief as he heard the door close; the signal that thishorribly jarring note had once more, at least momentarily, gone out ofhis life.
When she returned, it was not quite so bad. This time, he had thecontents of the brief case to distract him. It was important that thelayouts be complete. His hands ran over them almost lovingly—a fullyear's advertising material for the most sensational medical productever to be offered to a suffering public.
Old Gregory Reece really had something this time; a cure-all to end allcure-alls, and one that was the real McCoy into the bargain. It dideverything that the old-time medicine doctor claimed, and a good dealmore, as well. And that was the very thing that made the drug's initialpresentation to the public so difficult. It was too wonderful to betrue.
Reece had been cagy in asking all the agencies to submit advertisingcampaigns. That way, he would