"Dear sirs: . . . I was in the business section of Des Moines one evening recently when my eye fell upon a copy of WEIRD TALES. Struck by its unusual appearance, I bought one. When I arrived home it was rather early, and I sat down to read. Well, I had not finished a half dozen pages before I knew I had found a marvelous book—in fact, my ideal magazine. Before I had finished the second story I was as much in its power as our detective friend seems to be in the power of 'The Whispering Thing.' . . .
"But here I have been taking up your time with praise of the Wonder Magazine and haven't spoken of the most vital thing—the thing which makes such mighty entertainment possible. Please find enclosed three dollars for which please enter me for a year's subscription to WEIRD TALES, beginning with your third issue."—J. C. Wolquist, 1544 Walker Street, Des Moines, Iowa.
"Dear Mr. Baird: Three weeks ago I bought a copy of WEIRD TALES, and I am shaking yet, as you probably can tell by my scribbling! . . . The first story I read was 'The Thing of a Thousand Shapes.' It happened to be eleven-thirty when I finished the first installment, and I went to bed quaking in every limb, firmly resolved never to lay eyes on another copy of WEIRD TALES.
"A few days later I passed a news stand. There, glaring into my eyes, was the interesting cover of WEIRD TALES. I was about to turn away when curiosity whispered in my ear, 'What happened to Billy?'
"Being a woman, curiosity, of course, won, and home I went, with the copy tucked snugly under my arm . . . And now I look on WEIRD TALES as a friend indeed. I daren't let my little brother get the magazine before he does his lessons, or they would never get done, while such an absorbing magazine is around."—Miss Marguerite Nicholson, 635 North Frazier Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
"Dear Mr. Baird: Congratulations! Your new magazine is simply splendid, I have often wondered just when I would be able to go to a news stand and buy a real magazine. Now all my worry has ceased . . . There is one trouble with it, and that is that it doesn't come weekly or semi-monthly."—M. Nawrocki, 854 Robinson Avenue, Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
"Dear Mr. Baird: . . . I have thoroughly enjoyed DETECTIVE TALES, every issue of it, and believe that there is more good reading matter in it than in any other magazine published, and when I saw a copy of WEIRD TALES at the news stand, with your name on it, I could not resist getting it. And it has lived up to my expectations. I could not put the magazine down until I had finished every story, and that was about three o'clock the next morning." . . .—Mary Sharon, 1912 Main Street, Galena, Kansas.
And it's now three o'clock in the afternoon, and the printer is calling for copy; and—
That'll be all. THE EDITOR.
THE ESCAPE
(Continued from page 104)
They were after him! What should he do? He threw back the bedclothes. His mind was working like lightning. They would never get him. He slipped to the floor. How he got to the door he never knew. Fear lends strength. He closed it and stumbled back across the floor, half-falling against the bed.
He knew what he was going to do. He pulled up the bed-clothes from the foot of the bed with feverish haste. The sheet—that was what he wanted! He ripped open the hem a few inches, turning it back so that he could get the raw edge of the material. Then he tore off a strip the whole length of the sheet. He laughed excitedly. They'd never get him!
By this time, the cut in his side had re-opened, but he did not notice it. He knew nothing but his one mad purpose. His senses seemed to have deserted him. It was as though he were in a dream. He felt as though his mind were standing off, directing his body to do these things, and as though he were putting a senseless and inanimate other half of him through certain prescribed motions.
He tied one end of the strip to one of the iron bed-posts, then he climbed into bed and lay down. He circled the other end of the strip around his neck. The head of the bed was looped between the posts with scrolls of white iron-work. He lifted his knees and pushed with his feet till his head was through one of these openings, hanging down in the space between the bed and the corner of the room. His neck was now in a straight line between the bed-posts, bent backward, and as he breathed, he emitted from his lips little hoarse noises that seemed to struggle out protestingly from his strained throat. He knew that he could not strangle himself to death, for as soon as unconsciousness came, he would relax his hold. If he could tie the other end! That was sure and safe.
The blood rushed to his head. He pulled the knot tight, very tight, and gasped. He felt as though he were drowning. His temples throbbed, and his ears beat as though the waves were knocking against the inside of his head, now roaring, now singing with queer, unearthly hum. He relaxed his hand, and the noose slackened.
There! That was not so bad, but the blood rushed back from his brain, and the waves swirled around him now and made him fearfully dizzy. He felt like a little brig, tossed in the valley of a tempestuous sea, beaten, dazed, apathetic.
He recovered somewhat. The police! They must be on their way up! The waves were calling. Their restless surging hammered upon his brain, dulling its sensibility. There was peace beneath those waves. Unchanging peace!
But he must hurry. A cloud rose before his eyes, grey and inviting. He seemed to forget. What was he going to do? Where was that peace? Peace, something he had not known for aeons, aching, endless aeons of time. Where was it? Ah, yes! Beneath the waves, those heaving, restless, insistent waves.
"I'm coming," he murmured thickly. His tongue seemed swollen. There was need of haste. He shook himself to clear his mind for the final effort. Then he pulled the noose tight with all his strength, and tied it quickly to the right-hand bedpost.
The waves seemed to open and he was going down. He saw a faint, opalescent light beneath him. There was something precious down there. It was peace.
"I'm coming," he muttered, struggling, his arms stretched out toward it. "I'm coming!"
