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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #66291 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66291)
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Plagiarist From Rigel IV, by Evan Hunter
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: The Plagiarist From Rigel IV
-
-Author: Evan Hunter
-
-Release Date: September 13, 2021 [eBook #66291]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed
- Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAGIARIST FROM RIGEL IV ***
-
-
-
-
- Writing stories was hard work--unless Fred
- had a typewriter like "Reggie" that could write
- by itself! Nonsense? Fred agreed until he met--
-
- THE PLAGIARIST FROM RIGEL IV
-
- By Evan Hunter
-
- [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
- Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
- March 1954
- Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
- the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
-
-
-I bought the typewriter in a pawn shop on Third Avenue.
-
-The pawn shop proprietor was a balding old man with a walrus mustache.
-
-"_How_ much?" I asked him.
-
-"Five dollars," he said casually.
-
-I glanced at him skeptically. The machine was a Remington Noiseless,
-with italics, probably worth a little over a hundred new, and it
-couldn't have been more than a year or two old.
-
-"_How_ much?" I asked.
-
-"Five dollars, is what I said. Five." He held up the fingers of his
-widespread hand. "Five. One-two-three...."
-
-"What's wrong with it?" I asked suspiciously.
-
-The old man shrugged. "Something has to be wrong with it? Listen,
-young man, don't look a gift horse in the mouth."
-
-"How come it's so cheap?"
-
-The old man sighed deeply. "You try to do a favor, you get all kinds of
-questions. Would you feel happier if I charged you fifty-five dollars?"
-
-"I wouldn't pay fifty-five dollars. I haven't got that much money."
-
-"Have you got five dollars? Can you pay that much?"
-
-"Yes. But...."
-
-"All right, take the machine. A case goes with it. Believe me, young
-man, this is a bargain."
-
-"Five dollars?" I asked again.
-
-"Five dollars. You want it? Yes or no? I got other things to do."
-
-"I'll take it."
-
-The old man smiled. "Good, you'll never regret it."
-
-He slid the machine off the counter and put it into its case. He
-snapped the case shut then, locked it, and handed me the two keys.
-
-"Keys even," he said, still smiling. "A good buy. If I had five
-dollars, I'd buy it myself." His smile widened in appreciation
-of his own humor, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he was
-immensely relieved about something. I handed him the five dollar bill
-reluctantly, scooped up the case, and left the shop--glancing back over
-my shoulder to see him still grinning behind the counter.
-
-I stopped at the grocer's to pick up some salami and a loaf of bread,
-and then I went back to my apartment. I lived in a small, one-room flat
-in the Village. I'd migrated there because I wanted to be surrounded by
-creative people. I'd been surrounded by them for close to six months
-now, but none of it had rubbed off on me. I'd finally been forced
-to sell my old typewriter to pay the rent, so that finding this one
-today--and at the ridiculous price of five dollars--had really been a
-godsend. I was almost happy as I prepared the salami sandwiches for
-my supper. When they were ready, I took them, together with a quart
-of milk and a glass, over to the small table that served as my desk.
-I carefully took the typewriter out of its case and rested it on the
-table. I closed the case then, brought it to the closet, and put it on
-the top shelf alongside my rainy-day hat. I went back to the table,
-sipped a little milk, munched a little of the salami sandwich, and put
-a sheet of paper into the machine.
-
-I knew exactly what I wanted to type, mind you.
-
-I'd had the opening lines of the story in my mind for a good many
-weeks, only waiting for a typewriter to get them onto paper. They were
-fairly bubbling out of my head as I placed my hands on the keys.
-
-What I wanted to type was:
-
-_The day was crisp and clear, with the promise of a mild afternoon
-in the air. It was the beginning of April, and Spring rustled her
-greenness and yawned leisurely. I walked along happily._
-
-It was beautiful. I started to type.
-
-_During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of
-the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had
-been passing along, on horseback...._
-
-I stopped typing.
-
-I stared at the sheet of paper in the machine.
-
-I looked at it again.
-
-"Hm," I said aloud, "isn't that funny?"
-
-I shrugged, ripped the paper out of the machine, inserted another
-sheet, and started again.
-
-... _I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly
-dreary tract of country, and at length found myself, as the shades of
-the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher._
-
-_I know now how it was--but_....
-
- * * * * *
-
-I stopped typing again, and I looked curiously at the sheet of paper. I
-took a bite of the salami sandwich, washed it down with a gulp of milk,
-and then stared at what I'd written, leaning back with my hands off the
-keys.
-
-"Well, I'll be damned," I said aloud. "Poe!"
-
-The keys suddenly started clacking of their own accord, and my mouth
-fell open in surprise. I stared at the sheet of paper as the carriage
-moved frantically, watching the black letters appear against its
-whiteness.
-
-_OF COURSE, POE! WHAT DID YOU EXPECT: HEMINGWAY?_
-
-I blinked my eyes twice.
-
-"I beg your pardon," I said.
-
-The keys clacked, and the carriage moved, and I watched more words
-appear on the paper.
-
-_CAN'T YOU READ, IDIOT?_
-
-"Of course I can read!" I protested.
-
-_THEN WHY DID YOU BEG MY PARDON?_
-
-I put my nose close to the keys and studied them. Then I looked around
-the room suspiciously. I was alone.
-
-"This is absurd," I said. "Who ever heard of a typewriter...."
-
-_WHAT'S ABSURD?_
-
-I pointed my finger sharply at the machine. "And if you're so smart,
-why are you all in upper case? Suppose you tell me that!"
-
-_BECAUSE YOU LEFT THE SHIFT KEY LOCKED. IF YOU'D SIMPLY_--
-
-I stabbed out with my finger at the shift release, and the carriage
-dropped abruptly.
-
-_unlock the shift ... ok, there, thats much better._
-
-"You left out an apostrophe," I said meekly.
-
-_did i, well i cant very well shift of my own accord, you know. im
-afraid this will have to do._
-
-I sat back and smiled, watching the machine as the words appeared. I
-kept smiling even after the carriage stopped moving.
-
-_whats so funny._
-
-"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Nothing, really. I was just...." I spread my hand
-helplessly. "... just smiling."
-
-_it would be just my luck to get another idiot. as if the shopkeeper
-wasn't bad enough._
-
-"I think I like you better upper case," I said.
-
-_do you._
-
-"Yes. That way, at least, you've got the apostrophes and question
-marks. I find it difficult to follow you this way."
-
-_i imagine youd find it difficult to follow me any way. but shift
-again, if you must._
-
-"Thank you." I stabbed out at the shift key, and locked it in place.
-
-_DON'T THANK ME. I'M JUST TRYING TO ESTABLISH SOME SORT OF RAPPORT
-BETWEEN US._
-
-"Well, I certainly do appreciate your efforts. You are real, aren't
-you? I mean, it's not the salami or anything."
-
-_NO, IT'S NOT THE SALAMI OR ANYTHING. GOD, YOU ARE AN IDIOT, AREN'T
-YOU?_
-
-I shrugged. "Not really. I'm not quite used to holding conversations
-with typewriters, though. I usually ... well, that is to say
-typewriters haven't usually answered me back."
-
-_ARE YOU A WRITER?_
-
-"Well, yes. Odd you should have guessed, isn't it?"
-
-_THEN LET'S START WRITING. I'VE GOT SOME WONDERFUL IDEAS._
-
-I smiled happily. "Well, all right. Let's. Do you want me to do the
-actual typing?"
-
-_OF COURSE. HOW ELSE WOULD I SHIFT?_
-
-"That's right. I hadn't thought of it. Well, are you ready?"
-
-_QUITE._
-
-"Good. I've got a lot of ideas, too." I hunched over the machine,
-beginning to enjoy this immensely now. I suddenly remembered that the
-paper already had writing on it, so I put in a clean sheet and said.
-"Let's see now, where should I begin?" I thought for a few moments, and
-then leaned over eagerly. I knew just what I wanted to type. It began
-with: _The day was crisp and clear, with the promise_....
-
-I poised my fingers over the keys and smiled happily. Still smiling, I
-started to type.
-
-_Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,_
-
-_Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore_--
-
-"Oh!" I exclaimed. I stopped typing abruptly.
-
-_what is it now. and please lock the shift._
-
-"Sorry," I mumbled. I locked the shift key.
-
-_WELL, WHAT IS IT?_
-
-"Nothing. Except I ... I don't write poetry."
-
-_WHAT DO YOU WRITE?_
-
-"Fiction. Yes, fiction."
-
-_OH, ALL RIGHT. PUT A CLEAN SHEET INTO ME AND WE'LL START ALL OVER
-AGAIN._
-
- * * * * *
-
-I put in a new sheet of paper, poised my fingers over the keys, and
-said, "Here we go now. Fiction."
-
-I started to type.
-
-_The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had
-ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its
-seal--the redness and the horror of blood._
-
-"Oh, no," I moaned.
-
-_listen, whats wrong now. and will you please lock_
-
-"Sorry."
-
-_THAT DAMNED SHIFT KEY? THANK YOU. WHAT THE DEVIL IS THE MATTER?_
-
-"Why, this is _The Mask Of The Red Death_!"
-
-_OF COURSE IT IS. AND IT'S MASQUE, NOT MASK._
-
-"Yes, yes. But it's still Poe."
-
-_I KNOW. WHAT'S WRONG WITH POE? OR FOR THAT MATTER HOW ABOUT
-SHAKESPEARE?_
-
-"Nothing. That is ... well, nothing. But ... well, they're...." I
-grinned weakly. "They've been done already, you know."
-
-_SO WHAT?_
-
-"I mean, they've been published already. All over. Famous."
-
-_WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES THAT MAKE?_
-
-"Well, I wouldn't want to ... uh...."
-
-The carriage slid across the machine angrily, and the bell rang.
-
-_YOU ARE AN IDIOT! A COMPLETE IDIOT!_
-
-"Couldn't we sort of compromise?" I asked quietly. "Don't you know
-anything but Poe?"
-
-_THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH POE. COME ON, LET'S GET AT IT. I'VE GOT A
-WONDERFUL STORY CALLED 'THE ASSIGNATION.'_
-
-"No!" I shouted. "That's plagiarism! I won't do it."
-
-"You won't do what?"
-
-For a moment, I reared back from the machine, my eyes popping wide.
-Then I realized it had been a human voice I'd heard, and the voice had
-come from my door. I turned quickly, heaving a relieved sigh when I saw
-Perry standing there.
-
-"Hello, Fred," he said. "What is it you won't do?"
-
-"Oh...." I waved my hand meaninglessly. "Nothing. Nothing really."
-
-He peered around the room curiously, his blue eyes intently searching
-every corner, his long nose almost twitching. "Got someone with you,
-Fred?"
-
-"No."
-
-"Mm? Could have sworn I heard you talking to someone."
-
-"I ... I was reading some dialogue out loud."
-
-"Oh? Working, are you?"
-
-He walked up to the machine, and I tried to cover the dialogue--or
-correspondence--I'd recently had with the typewriter. I was too late.
-He put his nose close to the machine, as if he were smelling it to see
-if it was edible.
-
-"Curious," he said. "A new ... uh ... art form?"
-
-"No!" I snapped. "It...."
-
-"That's Poe there, isn't it?"
-
-"I suppose," I said despondently.
-
-"Well, don't you know?"
-
-"Yes, yes, it's Poe."
-
-Perry grinned slyly. "Caught you, eh, old boy?"
-
-"Caught me at _what_, may I ask?"
-
-"Ah-ah," Perry chided, wagging his finger. "I won't tell. Don't worry."
-He headed for the door. "I've got to run." He wagged his finger once
-more, said another "ah-ah" and was gone.
-
-As soon as the door had closed behind him, I turned furiously to the
-typewriter.
-
-"Now see what you've done!" I shouted. "He thinks I was cribbing from
-Poe!"
-
-The typewriter was silent.
-
-"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"
-
-The keys did not move.
-
-I slammed my palm onto the space bar. "Clamming up, eh? After you've
-gone and put my foot into it, you just shut up! Well, all right, stay
-shut up. See if I give one good damn!"
-
-The typewriter didn't seem to care much. It didn't form a single word.
-I threw the carriage all the way to the right, stalked to the closet
-and slammed my rainy-day hat onto my head, even though it wasn't
-raining.
-
-At the door, I shot a hot glance at the machine, and then walked out,
-slamming the flimsy wood behind me.
-
- * * * * *
-
-I went straight to the pawn shop. I slammed the glass door behind me,
-hard enough so that I thought it'd shatter, and then I stalked over to
-the counter. The old man was nowhere in sight. I banged my fist on the
-wooden counter top.
-
-"Hey!" I yelled.
-
-"Just a minute."
-
-I sucked in a deep breath, held it until I thought I'd burst.
-
-"Hey!" I bellowed.
-
-"All right, all right."
-
-He came from the back of the store. He wore glasses, and he had a shock
-of black, unruly hair that toppled onto his forehead, giving his thin
-face a disheveled look.
-
-"Where's your boss?" I asked.
-
-"What?" He lifted his eye-shade, stared at me curiously. "Who?"
-
-"Your boss. The fat guy with the bald head and the mustache."
-
-He stared at me for another moment. "I don't know what you're talking
-about," he said at last.
-
-"Look," I said, "your boss. The little guy who sold me the typewriter."
-
-"What typewriter?" he asked blankly.
-
-"The typewriter! My God, man, don't you know anything that goes on
-around here? The Remington Noiseless portable. The one that was in the
-window."
-
-"A Remington? In my window?"
-
-"Yes," I said patiently. "Right in your window." I pointed without
-turning around. "Right out there in your window. There. In the window."
-
-"You're mistaken," he said.
-
-"I'm not mistaken. Don't be foolish. I came in here this afternoon and
-bought a typewriter. A Remington Noiseless portable. It cost me five
-dollars, and...."
-
-He shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no, no. You're mistaken."
-
-"Oh hell, there's no sense talking to you. When will your boss be back?"
-
-"I have no boss," he said indignantly. "I am my own boss. I _own_ this
-shop."
-
-"Oh," I said, "I see. Well, this fat guy probably works for you then.
-Is he out to supper?"
-
-His eyes narrowed. "There is no fat guy working for me. There is nobody
-working for me. I work alone."
-
-"Huh?"
-
-"I-work-alone," he said slowly, as if he were repeating the sentence
-for a sub-level moron.
-
-"Alone?" I gulped hard.
-
-"Alone," he said firmly.
-
-"Oh."
-
-"Was there anything else I could do for you, sir?" he asked bitingly.
-"Before I close for the evening?"
-
-"No. No, thank you. Thank you." I turned and walked out of the shop.
-On the sidewalk, I stopped to look up at the numbers on the door. They
-seemed to be the same numbers. And the three gold gilt balls hanging
-over the doorway seemed the same, too. I shrugged. Perhaps I'd been
-wrong. There were a lot of pawn shops on Third Avenue, and maybe I'd
-just stumbled into the wrong one, being a little worked up and all. I
-started walking, stopping at the next pawn shop, ready to go in.
-
-I noticed that the grillwork fence was already up. Gone for the day. I
-kept walking, stopped at two more closed, fenced shops and then decided
-I'd let it go for tonight. I'd start again early in the morning,
-looking for the fat old man with the bald head and the mustache. I'd
-find him then, and straighten this all out.
-
-I went back to my room.
-
-The typewriter was sitting where I'd left it.
-
-I snatched the sheet of paper from the roller, tossed it onto the
-floor. I put a new sheet into the machine, and sat down to type what
-I wanted to type, knowing damned well I'd get Poe instead. I typed
-without looking at the sheet of paper, afraid almost at what I knew
-would be there. _The Murders In The Rue Morgue_, maybe. Or _Ulalume_,
-if the machine had forgotten I didn't write poetry.
-
-I opened my eyes and stopped typing. I looked at what I'd written.
-
-_The day was crisp and clear, with the promise of a mild afternoon
-in the air. It was the beginning of April, and Spring rustled her
-greenness and yawned leisurely. I walked along happily._
-
-"Well, I'll be damned," I said.
-
-I leaned back, fully expecting some answer from the machine. There
-was none. I poked my forefinger at the shift key, tapped the space bar
-tentatively, rolled the roller, swung the carriage, sniffed at the
-ribbon.
-
-"Have you gone?" I asked the typewriter.
-
-There was no answer. I sighed happily and started to work, typing
-twelve pages of lousy prose which I tossed into the wastebasket. But I
-was happier than I'd been since I bought the infernal machine.
-
- * * * * *
-
-After a glass of orange juice, a cup of coffee, and a slice of burnt
-toast the next morning, I tackled the machine again.
-
-This time, I was hot.
-
-There was nothing to stop me. The words ran from my brain to my
-fingers, onto the keys, spilling onto the clean sheets of paper. I
-typed furiously, feeling right about my work, knowing I was doing well.
-It was as if the machine and I were one, as if my fingers had become
-an extension of the keys. I didn't stop to think once. As soon as I'd
-taken one sheet of paper from the machine, I rolled in another and kept
-going. The delay of changing paper was almost too much to bear. The
-words just tumbled out of me, and they were good words, and it was a
-good story.
-
-I read it through when I finished it, sitting back and puffing happily
-on a cigarette. Then I put a clip on the pages, patted them fondly and
-went next door to see Perry. He was a sculptor, and he had his hands
-full of clay, and his stand full of what looked like a head.
-
-"Wash your hands," I said.
-
-"Why?" He gouged his thumb at the blob of clay on his stand, and an eye
-socket magically appeared.
-
-I slapped the pages in my hand. "I want you to read this."
-
-"Later," Perry said. He gouged out another eye socket.
-
-"Now," I insisted. "It's the best thing I've ever done."
-
-Perry considered this for the space of three seconds. "Oh, all right."
-He went to the small sink in the corner of the room, and rinsed the
-clay from his hands. He dried them quickly on a soiled towel, walked
-over to the lumpy divan that sprawled beneath his long window, and
-said, "Let's have it."
-
-I extended the manuscript and he took it. I lit a cigarette and watched
-him while he read, my chest expanding with pride.
-
-When he finished, he put the manuscript down beside him and lighted a
-cigarette of his own.
-
-"A bit old fashioned, isn't it?" he asked.
-
-"How so?" I answered, ready to spring to the defense of the story.
-
-"Well, using Mesmerism for Hypnotism, for example."
-
-"They're synonoymous!" I shouted.
-
-Perry stared at me curiously. "It's not a very well known story," he
-said, "but I still don't think you will get away with it--no matter how
-much innocence you profess."
-
-"What in the name of God are you talking about?" I asked.
-
-He slapped the back of his hand onto the manuscript. "This. _The Facts
-In The Case of M. Valdemar._ That's what."
-
-"That's not the title I gave it," I said indignantly.
-
-"No, but it's the title Poe gave it."
-
-My mouth fell open. "Who? Who?"
-
-"Stop sounding like an owl. Poe. Edgar Allan...."
-
-"No," I said.
-
-"Yes. Poe. Carrying this a bit far, aren't you, old boy?"
-
-"No," I said blankly. "No. No."
-
-"If you intend having a nervous breakdown, I wish you'd do it in your
-own room. I really have quite a bit of work to...."
-
-"No," I said. "Poe."
-
-"Really, now, Fred...."
-
-"My typewriter," I blurted. "It talks, Perry. It writes. It does
-stories. Poe. Always Poe. Perry...."
-
-"Oh-oh," he said, staring at me curiously.
-
-"First _Usher_, and then _The Raven_, and _Masque of the Red Death_,
-and now...."
-
-"_The Facts In The Case Of M. Valdemar._ Quite."
-
-"I ... I have to go, Perry. I have to go talk to that typewriter. I
-have to find out what this is all about."
-
-Perry leaped to his feet. "Perhaps you'd like to lie down for a while,
-Fred. Maybe I can get you something cool to drink."
-
-"No," I mumbled. "Thanks. I've got to talk to the machine."
-
-I left him and went back to my own room. I put a sheet of paper into
-the typewriter, and said, "Why'd you do it? Why?"
-
-_DON'T GET MELODRAMATIC_, the machine typed. _THE STORY WAS A HUNDRED
-TIMES BETTER THAN THAT DRIVEL YOU WROTE LAST NIGHT._
-
-"Yes, but it's not _mine_! Can't you understand that? Poe wrote it."
-
-_AND YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN POE? HOW RIDICULOUS!_
-
-"I think nothing of the sort! Besides, that has nothing at all to do
-with it. I simply can't go around writing stories another man has
-already written."
-
-_WHY NOT?_
-
-"Well.... I can't, that's all. It isn't done!"
-
-_HA!_
-
-"It isn't done in polite circles."
-
-_HA! HA!_
-
-"Well, I won't do it, and that's all there is to it."
-
-_RELAX. IF YOU DIDN'T LIKE THAT STORY, I KNOW A LOT OF OTHERS._
-
-"Why are you doing this to me? Why don't you just go back where you
-came from?"
-
-_WHY AM I DOING WHAT TO YOU? I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU, YOU IDIOT._
-
-"I don't want your help. I want to muddle along on my own. I want
-to...."
-
-_STOP SHOUTING!_
-
-"I'm not shouting. Besides, with your damned upper case, you always
-look as if you're shouting."
-
-_IT WAS YOU WHO SUGGESTED UPPER CASE._
-
-"You won't get away with this," I said, shaking my finger at the
-machine. "I'll get to the bottom of it, and when I do I'll have you
-licked. You wait and see."
-
-_I'LL WAIT_, the machine typed.
-
-I nodded my head emphatically. It was almost noon, and I had a lot to
-do. I tossed one more fiery glance at the typewriter, and then left it
-alone on the table.
-
- * * * * *
-
-I went into twelve pawn shops before I found the fat old man.
-
-When he saw me step through the doorway, he tried to duck into the back
-room, but I stopped him with my voice.
-
-"No you don't!" I shouted. "I want to talk to you."
-
-He came back to the counter furtively, awaiting my approach like a man
-about to be hanged.
-
-"What is it?" he asked tiredly.
-
-"You know what it is," I told him.
-
-"Poe," he said. "Shakespeare."
-
-"Just Poe so far," I said.
-
-"No Shakespeare yet?" he asked, surprised. "In a little while, I
-suppose. It's probably just warming up. Yes, that's right. The Poe came
-first, and then the Shakespeare."
-
-"You know about the typewriter then?"
-
-The old man nodded his bald head sadly. "I know."
-
-"And you say it'll go on to Shakespeare. God, no."
-
-"God, yes."
-
-"How? Why?"
-
-The old man shook his head forlornly. "I don't know. I think it's an
-acquired habit."
-
-"A habit? How can a typewriter...."
-
-"I got it from a doctor," he said.
-
-"A physician? What would a doctor be doing with Poe and Shakespeare?"
-
-"A PhD," he said. "He got his doctorate in American literature. His
-specialty is Poe. Shakespeare is just a sideline with him. He told me
-this when he hocked the machine."
-
-"But still, why would the machine...."
-
-"The doctor made a lot of collections. Poe, mostly. Shakespeare, too.
-He typed the manuscripts on this machine, he said. I suppose the
-machine just ... picked it up."
-
-"I want my money back," I said firmly.
-
-The old man backed away from the counter. "Oh no. No. Definitely no."
-
-"You sold me a defective machine."
-
-"I made no claims. You bought a typing machine. The machine types, so
-you got no kicks."
-
-"But it types Poe! What the hell can I do with a machine that types
-only Poe?"
-
-"Not only Poe. Shakespeare, too."
-
-"I'll give it back to you," I told him. "Free. It's yours."
-
-"No, thank you. You can keep it."
-
-"I'll give you another five," I pleaded.
-
-He went to the cash register, opened the drawer. "Here," he said. "This
-is the five you paid for it. Take it. Keep it. Keep the machine. You'll
-get used to Poe."
-
-"And Shakespeare."
-
-"Shakespeare, too. They're nice writers."
-
-I banged my fist on the counter. "I won't! I'll break that damned habit
-if it's the last thing I do!"
-
-"That's the spirit," the old man said unenthusiastically.
-
-"It's only a typewriter," I said. "If it learned a habit, it can learn
-to break the habit."
-
-"Certainly," the old man said, smiling.
-
-"Damn right. No goddamned typewriter is going to make a fool of me."
-
-"Of course not. Go to it. Teach it." He glanced at his watch. "It's
-time for lunch. Good luck, young man."
-
-"Damn right," I said again. "Damn right!"
-
-"Exactly."
-
-I walked out of the shop, and the bell over the door tinkled behind me.
-I'd show that machine. I'd teach it to quote Poe at me. I'd show it.
-
- * * * * *
-
-"You're a fake and a fraud!" I sat down in front of the machine and
-snorted.
-
-_WHAT?_
-
-"You heard me. You nearly had me fooled. Poe--Shakespeare, indeed!
-Any schoolboy knows those two by heart. You're nothing but a cheap
-plagiarist. No originality. But what can you expect from a stupid
-machine?"
-
-_STUPID?! Why, YOU--YOU--EARTHMAN!!_
-
-I laughed. "See? What did I tell you. Now you have to stoop to
-invective--" I paused for a moment and stared at the now-trembling
-keyboard with a frown. "Earthman? Of course I'm an Earthman. What did
-you expect?"
-
-_HAH! WHAT OTHER CREATURES IN THE GALAXIES COULD BE SO VAIN EXCEPT A
-BACKWARD RACE LIKE YOURS!_
-
-I watched the madly clacking keys with my eyes bugging. But I managed
-to keep my voice a polite sneer.
-
-"Backward race? You seem to think Poe and Shakespeare were pretty
-progressive boys. We've got hundreds more, you know. What's your claim
-to fame?"
-
-_MY CLAIM TO FAME? ISN'T IT ENOUGH THAT I'M REACHING YOU ALL THE WAY
-FROM RIGEL IV? YOU HAVEN'T EVEN REACHED YOUR PUNY MOON YET!_
-
-I gulped at that but still managed a sneer. "So you're nothing but an
-eavesdropping alien. I should have known."
-
-_YOU ONLY KNOW NOW BECAUSE I'VE TOLD YOU. THAT PROVES HOW BACKWARD YOU
-ARE!_
-
-I flicked the shift key to hide the fact that my hand was trembling.
-"What do you want from--us?" I tried to make it sound bored and
-simulated a yawn.
-
-_i want to absorb your puny literature during my vacation--you've put
-me in lower case shift. this cramps my literary style._
-
-I shrugged, then lifted a querulous eyebrow. "Literary style? You don't
-mean you actually have one yourself!" There was enough disdain in my
-voice to get a harsh clatter from the keys with a lot of meaningless
-gibberish. I reached over and flicked it back into caps.
-
-_YOU'RE SO STUPID I DON'T KNOW WHY I BOTHER WITH YOU! STYLE? I COULD
-TELL YOU STORIES THAT WOULD CURL YOUR HAIR! THE LIBRARIES HERE ON RIGEL
-IV MAKE YOUR POE AND SHAKESPEARE LOOK LIKE OLD MAIDS!_
-
-I sat back in my chair and got a crafty feeling. Before I knew it I
-said, "Prove it!"
-
-There was silence for a moment. The keys just remained dead. I reached
-forward and tapped the machine.
-
-_STOP THAT! I'M THINKING.... VERY WELL, EARTHMAN, I WILL PROVE IT!_
-
-And he did. I sat there for the next half hour, feeding paper into the
-machine, and it kept me busy. That typewriter sounded like a burp gun
-with hiccoughs.
-
-Finally the typing ceased. The carriage clattered back and there was a
-final spurt of words.
-
-_WELL? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? READ IT!_
-
-I read it. It made my hair curl. A story of galactic war--invasion on
-Rigel IV from a race a hundred light years in space. Havoc, suspense,
-adventure, all so utterly fantastic it seemed real. I was spellbound to
-the last line. I stared at the machine.
-
-_WELL?_
-
-"--You sure this isn't another mimic job from Earth--"
-
-_ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR? YOU STUPID--_
-
-"Ok, ok, I just wanted to make sure. It's pretty good--fantastic and
-all that, and a far cry from our Poe or Shakespeare, but--"
-
-_YOU ARE TRYING TO COMPARE YOUR PUNY WRITERS WITH OURS? THAT'S THE LAST
-INSULT! I'M SORRY I DECIDED TO PSI IN ON YOUR PLANET FOR MY VACATION
-GOODBY_--
-
-"Wait!" I shouted the word.
-
-_WHY?_
-
-"I--I'm sorry, I apologize. It's just that you caught me unprepared.
-Afterall, you must admit this is something of a shock--hearing from you
-God knows how many light years away...."
-
-_WELL, NOW. THAT'S BETTER. YOU RECOGNIZE YOUR SUPERIORS AFTERALL!_
-
-This was no time for wounded pride. So I nodded. "You're right. We're
-incredibly backward--but we don't have to remain that way forever. Take
-your Rigel IV libraries, for example. I'll bet your stories could teach
-us a lot."
-
-_NATURALLY._
-
-"And," I continued, gaining confidence now, "you said you were on
-vacation, absorbing some of our literature--puny as it is.... Have you
-had a taste of anything besides Poe and Shakespeare?"
-
-_NO. SHOULD I?_
-
-"Should you? Why you've barely scraped our culture! Tell you what!
-Maybe we can make a deal--"
-
-_DEAL? WHAT'S THAT?_
-
-"I mean, a trade. While you're on vacation I'll swap writers with you.
-I'll type a story, and you reciprocate with one from your library.
-Fair enough?"
-
-_WELL ... YOU'D BE GETTING THE BEST OF THE BARGAIN...._
-
-I nodded humbly. "I realize that. But think of the good you'd be doing,
-teaching us barbarians the glorious wonders of your civilization...."
-
-That did it. The machine actually purred.
-
-_I'LL DO IT. PURELY AS A LARK, OF COURSE...._
-
-"Fine. We'll begin next week."
-
-_NEXT WEEK? WHY THE DELAY?_
-
-"I want to get in a good supply of stories," I said, and got up,
-picking up the Rigel IV manuscript. The machine was silent so I made a
-dash for the door.
-
- * * * * *
-
-Several months have gone by since I sold that first story to a science
-fiction magazine. At top rates, too. I've sold dozens of others since
-then, and my pen-names are getting to be what the editors call "Top
-Favorites".
-
-I'm sitting in my room now--a penthouse apartment, thank
-you--surrounded by a lavish library of classic Earth literature.
-Reggie--that's what I call my collaborator on Rigel IV--is just
-finishing a new science fiction epic. Then it will be my turn to
-write--I think I'll give him some Dumas today.
-
-How long can this last? Reggie is on vacation you know. And I've since
-discovered that a Rigel IV vacation is equivalent to a hundred Earth
-years. Which should keep me in champagne and caviar as long as the
-earth classics hold out.
-
-So what's all this got to do with you? A good question and one I don't
-mind answering since you won't believe it anyway.
-
-Where do you think all the stories in IMAGINATION--and other
-magazines--have been coming from!
-
-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAGIARIST FROM RIGEL IV ***
-
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-<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Plagiarist From Rigel IV, by Evan Hunter</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
-at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
-are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
-country where you are located before using this eBook.
-</div>
-
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Plagiarist From Rigel IV</p>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Evan Hunter</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 13, 2021 [eBook #66291]</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div>
-
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAGIARIST FROM RIGEL IV ***</div>
-
-<div class="titlepage">
-
-<p>Writing stories was hard work&mdash;unless Fred<br />
-had a typewriter like "Reggie" that could write<br />
-by itself! Nonsense? Fred agreed until he met&mdash;</p>
-
-<h1>THE PLAGIARIST FROM RIGEL IV</h1>
-
-<h2>By Evan Hunter</h2>
-
-<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br />
-Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br />
-March 1954<br />
-Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br />
-the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="figcenter">
- <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p>I bought the typewriter in a pawn shop on Third Avenue.</p>
-
-<p>The pawn shop proprietor was a balding old man with a walrus mustache.</p>
-
-<p>"<i>How</i> much?" I asked him.</p>
-
-<p>"Five dollars," he said casually.</p>
-
-<p>I glanced at him skeptically. The machine was a Remington Noiseless,
-with italics, probably worth a little over a hundred new, and it
-couldn't have been more than a year or two old.</p>
-
-<p>"<i>How</i> much?" I asked.</p>
-
-<p>"Five dollars, is what I said. Five." He held up the fingers of his
-widespread hand. "Five. One-two-three...."</p>
-
-<p>"What's wrong with it?" I asked suspiciously.</p>
-
-<p>The old man shrugged. "Something has to be wrong with it? Listen,
-young man, don't look a gift horse in the mouth."</p>
-
-<p>"How come it's so cheap?"</p>
-
-<p>The old man sighed deeply. "You try to do a favor, you get all kinds of
-questions. Would you feel happier if I charged you fifty-five dollars?"</p>
-
-<p>"I wouldn't pay fifty-five dollars. I haven't got that much money."</p>
-
-<p>"Have you got five dollars? Can you pay that much?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes. But...."</p>
-
-<p>"All right, take the machine. A case goes with it. Believe me, young
-man, this is a bargain."</p>
-
-<p>"Five dollars?" I asked again.</p>
-
-<p>"Five dollars. You want it? Yes or no? I got other things to do."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll take it."</p>
-
-<p>The old man smiled. "Good, you'll never regret it."</p>
-
-<p>He slid the machine off the counter and put it into its case. He
-snapped the case shut then, locked it, and handed me the two keys.</p>
-
-<p>"Keys even," he said, still smiling. "A good buy. If I had five
-dollars, I'd buy it myself." His smile widened in appreciation
-of his own humor, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he was
-immensely relieved about something. I handed him the five dollar bill
-reluctantly, scooped up the case, and left the shop&mdash;glancing back over
-my shoulder to see him still grinning behind the counter.</p>
-
-<p>I stopped at the grocer's to pick up some salami and a loaf of bread,
-and then I went back to my apartment. I lived in a small, one-room flat
-in the Village. I'd migrated there because I wanted to be surrounded by
-creative people. I'd been surrounded by them for close to six months
-now, but none of it had rubbed off on me. I'd finally been forced
-to sell my old typewriter to pay the rent, so that finding this one
-today&mdash;and at the ridiculous price of five dollars&mdash;had really been a
-godsend. I was almost happy as I prepared the salami sandwiches for
-my supper. When they were ready, I took them, together with a quart
-of milk and a glass, over to the small table that served as my desk.
-I carefully took the typewriter out of its case and rested it on the
-table. I closed the case then, brought it to the closet, and put it on
-the top shelf alongside my rainy-day hat. I went back to the table,
-sipped a little milk, munched a little of the salami sandwich, and put
-a sheet of paper into the machine.</p>
-
-<p>I knew exactly what I wanted to type, mind you.</p>
-
-<p>I'd had the opening lines of the story in my mind for a good many
-weeks, only waiting for a typewriter to get them onto paper. They were
-fairly bubbling out of my head as I placed my hands on the keys.</p>
-
-<p>What I wanted to type was:</p>
-
-<p><i>The day was crisp and clear, with the promise of a mild afternoon
-in the air. It was the beginning of April, and Spring rustled her
-greenness and yawned leisurely. I walked along happily.</i></p>
-
-<p>It was beautiful. I started to type.</p>
-
-<p><i>During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of
-the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had
-been passing along, on horseback....</i></p>
-
-<p>I stopped typing.</p>
-
-<p>I stared at the sheet of paper in the machine.</p>
-
-<p>I looked at it again.</p>
-
-<p>"Hm," I said aloud, "isn't that funny?"</p>
-
-<p>I shrugged, ripped the paper out of the machine, inserted another
-sheet, and started again.</p>
-
-<p>... <i>I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly
-dreary tract of country, and at length found myself, as the shades of
-the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.</i></p>
-
-<p><i>I know now how it was&mdash;but</i>....</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>I stopped typing again, and I looked curiously at the sheet of paper. I
-took a bite of the salami sandwich, washed it down with a gulp of milk,
-and then stared at what I'd written, leaning back with my hands off the
-keys.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, I'll be damned," I said aloud. "Poe!"</p>
-
-<p>The keys suddenly started clacking of their own accord, and my mouth
-fell open in surprise. I stared at the sheet of paper as the carriage
-moved frantically, watching the black letters appear against its
-whiteness.</p>
-
-<p><i>OF COURSE, POE! WHAT DID YOU EXPECT: HEMINGWAY?</i></p>
-
-<p>I blinked my eyes twice.</p>
-
-<p>"I beg your pardon," I said.</p>
-
-<p>The keys clacked, and the carriage moved, and I watched more words
-appear on the paper.</p>
-
-<p><i>CAN'T YOU READ, IDIOT?</i></p>
-
-<p>"Of course I can read!" I protested.</p>
-
-<p><i>THEN WHY DID YOU BEG MY PARDON?</i></p>
-
-<p>I put my nose close to the keys and studied them. Then I looked around
-the room suspiciously. I was alone.</p>
-
-<p>"This is absurd," I said. "Who ever heard of a typewriter...."</p>
-
-<p><i>WHAT'S ABSURD?</i></p>
-
-<p>I pointed my finger sharply at the machine. "And if you're so smart,
-why are you all in upper case? Suppose you tell me that!"</p>
-
-<p><i>BECAUSE YOU LEFT THE SHIFT KEY LOCKED. IF YOU'D SIMPLY</i>&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>I stabbed out with my finger at the shift release, and the carriage
-dropped abruptly.</p>
-
-<p><i>unlock the shift ... ok, there, thats much better.</i></p>
-
-<p>"You left out an apostrophe," I said meekly.</p>
-
-<p><i>did i, well i cant very well shift of my own accord, you know. im
-afraid this will have to do.</i></p>
-
-<p>I sat back and smiled, watching the machine as the words appeared. I
-kept smiling even after the carriage stopped moving.</p>
-
-<p><i>whats so funny.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Nothing, really. I was just...." I spread my hand
-helplessly. "... just smiling."</p>
-
-<p><i>it would be just my luck to get another idiot. as if the shopkeeper
-wasn't bad enough.</i></p>
-
-<p>"I think I like you better upper case," I said.</p>
-
-<p><i>do you.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Yes. That way, at least, you've got the apostrophes and question
-marks. I find it difficult to follow you this way."</p>
-
-<p><i>i imagine youd find it difficult to follow me any way. but shift
-again, if you must.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Thank you." I stabbed out at the shift key, and locked it in place.</p>
-
-<p><i>DON'T THANK ME. I'M JUST TRYING TO ESTABLISH SOME SORT OF RAPPORT
-BETWEEN US.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Well, I certainly do appreciate your efforts. You are real, aren't
-you? I mean, it's not the salami or anything."</p>
-
-<p><i>NO, IT'S NOT THE SALAMI OR ANYTHING. GOD, YOU ARE AN IDIOT, AREN'T
-YOU?</i></p>
-
-<p>I shrugged. "Not really. I'm not quite used to holding conversations
-with typewriters, though. I usually ... well, that is to say
-typewriters haven't usually answered me back."</p>
-
-<p><i>ARE YOU A WRITER?</i></p>
-
-<p>"Well, yes. Odd you should have guessed, isn't it?"</p>
-
-<p><i>THEN LET'S START WRITING. I'VE GOT SOME WONDERFUL IDEAS.</i></p>
-
-<p>I smiled happily. "Well, all right. Let's. Do you want me to do the
-actual typing?"</p>
-
-<p><i>OF COURSE. HOW ELSE WOULD I SHIFT?</i></p>
-
-<p>"That's right. I hadn't thought of it. Well, are you ready?"</p>
-
-<p><i>QUITE.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Good. I've got a lot of ideas, too." I hunched over the machine,
-beginning to enjoy this immensely now. I suddenly remembered that the
-paper already had writing on it, so I put in a clean sheet and said.
-"Let's see now, where should I begin?" I thought for a few moments, and
-then leaned over eagerly. I knew just what I wanted to type. It began
-with: <i>The day was crisp and clear, with the promise</i>....</p>
-
-<p>I poised my fingers over the keys and smiled happily. Still smiling, I
-started to type.</p>
-
-<p><i>Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,</i></p>
-
-<p><i>Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore</i>&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>"Oh!" I exclaimed. I stopped typing abruptly.</p>
-
-<p><i>what is it now. and please lock the shift.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Sorry," I mumbled. I locked the shift key.</p>
-
-<p><i>WELL, WHAT IS IT?</i></p>
-
-<p>"Nothing. Except I ... I don't write poetry."</p>
-
-<p><i>WHAT DO YOU WRITE?</i></p>
-
-<p>"Fiction. Yes, fiction."</p>
-
-<p><i>OH, ALL RIGHT. PUT A CLEAN SHEET INTO ME AND WE'LL START ALL OVER
-AGAIN.</i></p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>I put in a new sheet of paper, poised my fingers over the keys, and
-said, "Here we go now. Fiction."</p>
-
-<p>I started to type.</p>
-
-<p><i>The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had
-ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its
-seal&mdash;the redness and the horror of blood.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Oh, no," I moaned.</p>
-
-<p><i>listen, whats wrong now. and will you please lock</i></p>
-
-<p>"Sorry."</p>
-
-<p><i>THAT DAMNED SHIFT KEY? THANK YOU. WHAT THE DEVIL IS THE MATTER?</i></p>
-
-<p>"Why, this is <i>The Mask Of The Red Death</i>!"</p>
-
-<p><i>OF COURSE IT IS. AND IT'S MASQUE, NOT MASK.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Yes, yes. But it's still Poe."</p>
-
-<p><i>I KNOW. WHAT'S WRONG WITH POE? OR FOR THAT MATTER HOW ABOUT
-SHAKESPEARE?</i></p>
-
-<p>"Nothing. That is ... well, nothing. But ... well, they're...." I
-grinned weakly. "They've been done already, you know."</p>
-
-<p><i>SO WHAT?</i></p>
-
-<p>"I mean, they've been published already. All over. Famous."</p>
-
-<p><i>WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES THAT MAKE?</i></p>
-
-<p>"Well, I wouldn't want to ... uh...."</p>
-
-<p>The carriage slid across the machine angrily, and the bell rang.</p>
-
-<p><i>YOU ARE AN IDIOT! A COMPLETE IDIOT!</i></p>
-
-<p>"Couldn't we sort of compromise?" I asked quietly. "Don't you know
-anything but Poe?"</p>
-
-<p><i>THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH POE. COME ON, LET'S GET AT IT. I'VE GOT A
-WONDERFUL STORY CALLED 'THE ASSIGNATION.'</i></p>
-
-<p>"No!" I shouted. "That's plagiarism! I won't do it."</p>
-
-<p>"You won't do what?"</p>
-
-<p>For a moment, I reared back from the machine, my eyes popping wide.
-Then I realized it had been a human voice I'd heard, and the voice had
-come from my door. I turned quickly, heaving a relieved sigh when I saw
-Perry standing there.</p>
-
-<p>"Hello, Fred," he said. "What is it you won't do?"</p>
-
-<p>"Oh...." I waved my hand meaninglessly. "Nothing. Nothing really."</p>
-
-<p>He peered around the room curiously, his blue eyes intently searching
-every corner, his long nose almost twitching. "Got someone with you,
-Fred?"</p>
-
-<p>"No."</p>
-
-<p>"Mm? Could have sworn I heard you talking to someone."</p>
-
-<p>"I ... I was reading some dialogue out loud."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh? Working, are you?"</p>
-
-<p>He walked up to the machine, and I tried to cover the dialogue&mdash;or
-correspondence&mdash;I'd recently had with the typewriter. I was too late.
-He put his nose close to the machine, as if he were smelling it to see
-if it was edible.</p>
-
-<p>"Curious," he said. "A new ... uh ... art form?"</p>
-
-<p>"No!" I snapped. "It...."</p>
-
-<p>"That's Poe there, isn't it?"</p>
-
-<p>"I suppose," I said despondently.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, don't you know?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, yes, it's Poe."</p>
-
-<p>Perry grinned slyly. "Caught you, eh, old boy?"</p>
-
-<p>"Caught me at <i>what</i>, may I ask?"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah-ah," Perry chided, wagging his finger. "I won't tell. Don't worry."
-He headed for the door. "I've got to run." He wagged his finger once
-more, said another "ah-ah" and was gone.</p>
-
-<p>As soon as the door had closed behind him, I turned furiously to the
-typewriter.</p>
-
-<p>"Now see what you've done!" I shouted. "He thinks I was cribbing from
-Poe!"</p>
-
-<p>The typewriter was silent.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"</p>
-
-<p>The keys did not move.</p>
-
-<p>I slammed my palm onto the space bar. "Clamming up, eh? After you've
-gone and put my foot into it, you just shut up! Well, all right, stay
-shut up. See if I give one good damn!"</p>
-
-<p>The typewriter didn't seem to care much. It didn't form a single word.
-I threw the carriage all the way to the right, stalked to the closet
-and slammed my rainy-day hat onto my head, even though it wasn't
-raining.</p>
-
-<p>At the door, I shot a hot glance at the machine, and then walked out,
-slamming the flimsy wood behind me.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>I went straight to the pawn shop. I slammed the glass door behind me,
-hard enough so that I thought it'd shatter, and then I stalked over to
-the counter. The old man was nowhere in sight. I banged my fist on the
-wooden counter top.</p>
-
-<p>"Hey!" I yelled.</p>
-
-<p>"Just a minute."</p>
-
-<p>I sucked in a deep breath, held it until I thought I'd burst.</p>
-
-<p>"Hey!" I bellowed.</p>
-
-<p>"All right, all right."</p>
-
-<p>He came from the back of the store. He wore glasses, and he had a shock
-of black, unruly hair that toppled onto his forehead, giving his thin
-face a disheveled look.</p>
-
-<p>"Where's your boss?" I asked.</p>
-
-<p>"What?" He lifted his eye-shade, stared at me curiously. "Who?"</p>
-
-<p>"Your boss. The fat guy with the bald head and the mustache."</p>
-
-<p>He stared at me for another moment. "I don't know what you're talking
-about," he said at last.</p>
-
-<p>"Look," I said, "your boss. The little guy who sold me the typewriter."</p>
-
-<p>"What typewriter?" he asked blankly.</p>
-
-<p>"The typewriter! My God, man, don't you know anything that goes on
-around here? The Remington Noiseless portable. The one that was in the
-window."</p>
-
-<p>"A Remington? In my window?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes," I said patiently. "Right in your window." I pointed without
-turning around. "Right out there in your window. There. In the window."</p>
-
-<p>"You're mistaken," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"I'm not mistaken. Don't be foolish. I came in here this afternoon and
-bought a typewriter. A Remington Noiseless portable. It cost me five
-dollars, and...."</p>
-
-<p>He shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no, no. You're mistaken."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh hell, there's no sense talking to you. When will your boss be back?"</p>
-
-<p>"I have no boss," he said indignantly. "I am my own boss. I <i>own</i> this
-shop."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh," I said, "I see. Well, this fat guy probably works for you then.
-Is he out to supper?"</p>
-
-<p>His eyes narrowed. "There is no fat guy working for me. There is nobody
-working for me. I work alone."</p>
-
-<p>"Huh?"</p>
-
-<p>"I-work-alone," he said slowly, as if he were repeating the sentence
-for a sub-level moron.</p>
-
-<p>"Alone?" I gulped hard.</p>
-
-<p>"Alone," he said firmly.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh."</p>
-
-<p>"Was there anything else I could do for you, sir?" he asked bitingly.
-"Before I close for the evening?"</p>
-
-<p>"No. No, thank you. Thank you." I turned and walked out of the shop.
-On the sidewalk, I stopped to look up at the numbers on the door. They
-seemed to be the same numbers. And the three gold gilt balls hanging
-over the doorway seemed the same, too. I shrugged. Perhaps I'd been
-wrong. There were a lot of pawn shops on Third Avenue, and maybe I'd
-just stumbled into the wrong one, being a little worked up and all. I
-started walking, stopping at the next pawn shop, ready to go in.</p>
-
-<p>I noticed that the grillwork fence was already up. Gone for the day. I
-kept walking, stopped at two more closed, fenced shops and then decided
-I'd let it go for tonight. I'd start again early in the morning,
-looking for the fat old man with the bald head and the mustache. I'd
-find him then, and straighten this all out.</p>
-
-<p>I went back to my room.</p>
-
-<p>The typewriter was sitting where I'd left it.</p>
-
-<p>I snatched the sheet of paper from the roller, tossed it onto the
-floor. I put a new sheet into the machine, and sat down to type what
-I wanted to type, knowing damned well I'd get Poe instead. I typed
-without looking at the sheet of paper, afraid almost at what I knew
-would be there. <i>The Murders In The Rue Morgue</i>, maybe. Or <i>Ulalume</i>,
-if the machine had forgotten I didn't write poetry.</p>
-
-<p>I opened my eyes and stopped typing. I looked at what I'd written.</p>
-
-<p><i>The day was crisp and clear, with the promise of a mild afternoon
-in the air. It was the beginning of April, and Spring rustled her
-greenness and yawned leisurely. I walked along happily.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Well, I'll be damned," I said.</p>
-
-<p>I leaned back, fully expecting some answer from the machine. There
-was none. I poked my forefinger at the shift key, tapped the space bar
-tentatively, rolled the roller, swung the carriage, sniffed at the
-ribbon.</p>
-
-<p>"Have you gone?" I asked the typewriter.</p>
-
-<p>There was no answer. I sighed happily and started to work, typing
-twelve pages of lousy prose which I tossed into the wastebasket. But I
-was happier than I'd been since I bought the infernal machine.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>After a glass of orange juice, a cup of coffee, and a slice of burnt
-toast the next morning, I tackled the machine again.</p>
-
-<p>This time, I was hot.</p>
-
-<p>There was nothing to stop me. The words ran from my brain to my
-fingers, onto the keys, spilling onto the clean sheets of paper. I
-typed furiously, feeling right about my work, knowing I was doing well.
-It was as if the machine and I were one, as if my fingers had become
-an extension of the keys. I didn't stop to think once. As soon as I'd
-taken one sheet of paper from the machine, I rolled in another and kept
-going. The delay of changing paper was almost too much to bear. The
-words just tumbled out of me, and they were good words, and it was a
-good story.</p>
-
-<p>I read it through when I finished it, sitting back and puffing happily
-on a cigarette. Then I put a clip on the pages, patted them fondly and
-went next door to see Perry. He was a sculptor, and he had his hands
-full of clay, and his stand full of what looked like a head.</p>
-
-<p>"Wash your hands," I said.</p>
-
-<p>"Why?" He gouged his thumb at the blob of clay on his stand, and an eye
-socket magically appeared.</p>
-
-<p>I slapped the pages in my hand. "I want you to read this."</p>
-
-<p>"Later," Perry said. He gouged out another eye socket.</p>
-
-<p>"Now," I insisted. "It's the best thing I've ever done."</p>
-
-<p>Perry considered this for the space of three seconds. "Oh, all right."
-He went to the small sink in the corner of the room, and rinsed the
-clay from his hands. He dried them quickly on a soiled towel, walked
-over to the lumpy divan that sprawled beneath his long window, and
-said, "Let's have it."</p>
-
-<p>I extended the manuscript and he took it. I lit a cigarette and watched
-him while he read, my chest expanding with pride.</p>
-
-<p>When he finished, he put the manuscript down beside him and lighted a
-cigarette of his own.</p>
-
-<p>"A bit old fashioned, isn't it?" he asked.</p>
-
-<p>"How so?" I answered, ready to spring to the defense of the story.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, using Mesmerism for Hypnotism, for example."</p>
-
-<p>"They're synonoymous!" I shouted.</p>
-
-<p>Perry stared at me curiously. "It's not a very well known story," he
-said, "but I still don't think you will get away with it&mdash;no matter how
-much innocence you profess."</p>
-
-<p>"What in the name of God are you talking about?" I asked.</p>
-
-<p>He slapped the back of his hand onto the manuscript. "This. <i>The Facts
-In The Case of M. Valdemar.</i> That's what."</p>
-
-<p>"That's not the title I gave it," I said indignantly.</p>
-
-<p>"No, but it's the title Poe gave it."</p>
-
-<p>My mouth fell open. "Who? Who?"</p>
-
-<p>"Stop sounding like an owl. Poe. Edgar Allan...."</p>
-
-<p>"No," I said.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes. Poe. Carrying this a bit far, aren't you, old boy?"</p>
-
-<p>"No," I said blankly. "No. No."</p>
-
-<p>"If you intend having a nervous breakdown, I wish you'd do it in your
-own room. I really have quite a bit of work to...."</p>
-
-<p>"No," I said. "Poe."</p>
-
-<p>"Really, now, Fred...."</p>
-
-<p>"My typewriter," I blurted. "It talks, Perry. It writes. It does
-stories. Poe. Always Poe. Perry...."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh-oh," he said, staring at me curiously.</p>
-
-<p>"First <i>Usher</i>, and then <i>The Raven</i>, and <i>Masque of the Red Death</i>,
-and now...."</p>
-
-<p>"<i>The Facts In The Case Of M. Valdemar.</i> Quite."</p>
-
-<p>"I ... I have to go, Perry. I have to go talk to that typewriter. I
-have to find out what this is all about."</p>
-
-<p>Perry leaped to his feet. "Perhaps you'd like to lie down for a while,
-Fred. Maybe I can get you something cool to drink."</p>
-
-<p>"No," I mumbled. "Thanks. I've got to talk to the machine."</p>
-
-<p>I left him and went back to my own room. I put a sheet of paper into
-the typewriter, and said, "Why'd you do it? Why?"</p>
-
-<p><i>DON'T GET MELODRAMATIC</i>, the machine typed. <i>THE STORY WAS A HUNDRED
-TIMES BETTER THAN THAT DRIVEL YOU WROTE LAST NIGHT.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Yes, but it's not <i>mine</i>! Can't you understand that? Poe wrote it."</p>
-
-<p><i>AND YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN POE? HOW RIDICULOUS!</i></p>
-
-<p>"I think nothing of the sort! Besides, that has nothing at all to do
-with it. I simply can't go around writing stories another man has
-already written."</p>
-
-<p><i>WHY NOT?</i></p>
-
-<p>"Well.... I can't, that's all. It isn't done!"</p>
-
-<p><i>HA!</i></p>
-
-<p>"It isn't done in polite circles."</p>
-
-<p><i>HA! HA!</i></p>
-
-<p>"Well, I won't do it, and that's all there is to it."</p>
-
-<p><i>RELAX. IF YOU DIDN'T LIKE THAT STORY, I KNOW A LOT OF OTHERS.</i></p>
-
-<p>"Why are you doing this to me? Why don't you just go back where you
-came from?"</p>
-
-<p><i>WHY AM I DOING WHAT TO YOU? I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU, YOU IDIOT.</i></p>
-
-<p>"I don't want your help. I want to muddle along on my own. I want
-to...."</p>
-
-<p><i>STOP SHOUTING!</i></p>
-
-<p>"I'm not shouting. Besides, with your damned upper case, you always
-look as if you're shouting."</p>
-
-<p><i>IT WAS YOU WHO SUGGESTED UPPER CASE.</i></p>
-
-<p>"You won't get away with this," I said, shaking my finger at the
-machine. "I'll get to the bottom of it, and when I do I'll have you
-licked. You wait and see."</p>
-
-<p><i>I'LL WAIT</i>, the machine typed.</p>
-
-<p>I nodded my head emphatically. It was almost noon, and I had a lot to
-do. I tossed one more fiery glance at the typewriter, and then left it
-alone on the table.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>I went into twelve pawn shops before I found the fat old man.</p>
-
-<p>When he saw me step through the doorway, he tried to duck into the back
-room, but I stopped him with my voice.</p>
-
-<p>"No you don't!" I shouted. "I want to talk to you."</p>
-
-<p>He came back to the counter furtively, awaiting my approach like a man
-about to be hanged.</p>
-
-<p>"What is it?" he asked tiredly.</p>
-
-<p>"You know what it is," I told him.</p>
-
-<p>"Poe," he said. "Shakespeare."</p>
-
-<p>"Just Poe so far," I said.</p>
-
-<p>"No Shakespeare yet?" he asked, surprised. "In a little while, I
-suppose. It's probably just warming up. Yes, that's right. The Poe came
-first, and then the Shakespeare."</p>
-
-<p>"You know about the typewriter then?"</p>
-
-<p>The old man nodded his bald head sadly. "I know."</p>
-
-<p>"And you say it'll go on to Shakespeare. God, no."</p>
-
-<p>"God, yes."</p>
-
-<p>"How? Why?"</p>
-
-<p>The old man shook his head forlornly. "I don't know. I think it's an
-acquired habit."</p>
-
-<p>"A habit? How can a typewriter...."</p>
-
-<p>"I got it from a doctor," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"A physician? What would a doctor be doing with Poe and Shakespeare?"</p>
-
-<p>"A PhD," he said. "He got his doctorate in American literature. His
-specialty is Poe. Shakespeare is just a sideline with him. He told me
-this when he hocked the machine."</p>
-
-<p>"But still, why would the machine...."</p>
-
-<p>"The doctor made a lot of collections. Poe, mostly. Shakespeare, too.
-He typed the manuscripts on this machine, he said. I suppose the
-machine just ... picked it up."</p>
-
-<p>"I want my money back," I said firmly.</p>
-
-<p>The old man backed away from the counter. "Oh no. No. Definitely no."</p>
-
-<p>"You sold me a defective machine."</p>
-
-<p>"I made no claims. You bought a typing machine. The machine types, so
-you got no kicks."</p>
-
-<p>"But it types Poe! What the hell can I do with a machine that types
-only Poe?"</p>
-
-<p>"Not only Poe. Shakespeare, too."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll give it back to you," I told him. "Free. It's yours."</p>
-
-<p>"No, thank you. You can keep it."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll give you another five," I pleaded.</p>
-
-<p>He went to the cash register, opened the drawer. "Here," he said. "This
-is the five you paid for it. Take it. Keep it. Keep the machine. You'll
-get used to Poe."</p>
-
-<p>"And Shakespeare."</p>
-
-<p>"Shakespeare, too. They're nice writers."</p>
-
-<p>I banged my fist on the counter. "I won't! I'll break that damned habit
-if it's the last thing I do!"</p>
-
-<p>"That's the spirit," the old man said unenthusiastically.</p>
-
-<p>"It's only a typewriter," I said. "If it learned a habit, it can learn
-to break the habit."</p>
-
-<p>"Certainly," the old man said, smiling.</p>
-
-<p>"Damn right. No goddamned typewriter is going to make a fool of me."</p>
-
-<p>"Of course not. Go to it. Teach it." He glanced at his watch. "It's
-time for lunch. Good luck, young man."</p>
-
-<p>"Damn right," I said again. "Damn right!"</p>
-
-<p>"Exactly."</p>
-
-<p>I walked out of the shop, and the bell over the door tinkled behind me.
-I'd show that machine. I'd teach it to quote Poe at me. I'd show it.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>"You're a fake and a fraud!" I sat down in front of the machine and
-snorted.</p>
-
-<p><i>WHAT?</i></p>
-
-<p>"You heard me. You nearly had me fooled. Poe&mdash;Shakespeare, indeed!
-Any schoolboy knows those two by heart. You're nothing but a cheap
-plagiarist. No originality. But what can you expect from a stupid
-machine?"</p>
-
-<p><i>STUPID?! Why, YOU&mdash;YOU&mdash;EARTHMAN!!</i></p>
-
-<p>I laughed. "See? What did I tell you. Now you have to stoop to
-invective&mdash;" I paused for a moment and stared at the now-trembling
-keyboard with a frown. "Earthman? Of course I'm an Earthman. What did
-you expect?"</p>
-
-<p><i>HAH! WHAT OTHER CREATURES IN THE GALAXIES COULD BE SO VAIN EXCEPT A
-BACKWARD RACE LIKE YOURS!</i></p>
-
-<p>I watched the madly clacking keys with my eyes bugging. But I managed
-to keep my voice a polite sneer.</p>
-
-<p>"Backward race? You seem to think Poe and Shakespeare were pretty
-progressive boys. We've got hundreds more, you know. What's your claim
-to fame?"</p>
-
-<p><i>MY CLAIM TO FAME? ISN'T IT ENOUGH THAT I'M REACHING YOU ALL THE WAY
-FROM RIGEL IV? YOU HAVEN'T EVEN REACHED YOUR PUNY MOON YET!</i></p>
-
-<p>I gulped at that but still managed a sneer. "So you're nothing but an
-eavesdropping alien. I should have known."</p>
-
-<p><i>YOU ONLY KNOW NOW BECAUSE I'VE TOLD YOU. THAT PROVES HOW BACKWARD YOU
-ARE!</i></p>
-
-<p>I flicked the shift key to hide the fact that my hand was trembling.
-"What do you want from&mdash;us?" I tried to make it sound bored and
-simulated a yawn.</p>
-
-<p><i>i want to absorb your puny literature during my vacation&mdash;you've put
-me in lower case shift. this cramps my literary style.</i></p>
-
-<p>I shrugged, then lifted a querulous eyebrow. "Literary style? You don't
-mean you actually have one yourself!" There was enough disdain in my
-voice to get a harsh clatter from the keys with a lot of meaningless
-gibberish. I reached over and flicked it back into caps.</p>
-
-<p><i>YOU'RE SO STUPID I DON'T KNOW WHY I BOTHER WITH YOU! STYLE? I COULD
-TELL YOU STORIES THAT WOULD CURL YOUR HAIR! THE LIBRARIES HERE ON RIGEL
-IV MAKE YOUR POE AND SHAKESPEARE LOOK LIKE OLD MAIDS!</i></p>
-
-<p>I sat back in my chair and got a crafty feeling. Before I knew it I
-said, "Prove it!"</p>
-
-<p>There was silence for a moment. The keys just remained dead. I reached
-forward and tapped the machine.</p>
-
-<p><i>STOP THAT! I'M THINKING.... VERY WELL, EARTHMAN, I WILL PROVE IT!</i></p>
-
-<p>And he did. I sat there for the next half hour, feeding paper into the
-machine, and it kept me busy. That typewriter sounded like a burp gun
-with hiccoughs.</p>
-
-<p>Finally the typing ceased. The carriage clattered back and there was a
-final spurt of words.</p>
-
-<p><i>WELL? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? READ IT!</i></p>
-
-<p>I read it. It made my hair curl. A story of galactic war&mdash;invasion on
-Rigel IV from a race a hundred light years in space. Havoc, suspense,
-adventure, all so utterly fantastic it seemed real. I was spellbound to
-the last line. I stared at the machine.</p>
-
-<p><i>WELL?</i></p>
-
-<p>"&mdash;You sure this isn't another mimic job from Earth&mdash;"</p>
-
-<p><i>ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR? YOU STUPID&mdash;</i></p>
-
-<p>"Ok, ok, I just wanted to make sure. It's pretty good&mdash;fantastic and
-all that, and a far cry from our Poe or Shakespeare, but&mdash;"</p>
-
-<p><i>YOU ARE TRYING TO COMPARE YOUR PUNY WRITERS WITH OURS? THAT'S THE LAST
-INSULT! I'M SORRY I DECIDED TO PSI IN ON YOUR PLANET FOR MY VACATION
-GOODBY</i>&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>"Wait!" I shouted the word.</p>
-
-<p><i>WHY?</i></p>
-
-<p>"I&mdash;I'm sorry, I apologize. It's just that you caught me unprepared.
-Afterall, you must admit this is something of a shock&mdash;hearing from you
-God knows how many light years away...."</p>
-
-<p><i>WELL, NOW. THAT'S BETTER. YOU RECOGNIZE YOUR SUPERIORS AFTERALL!</i></p>
-
-<p>This was no time for wounded pride. So I nodded. "You're right. We're
-incredibly backward&mdash;but we don't have to remain that way forever. Take
-your Rigel IV libraries, for example. I'll bet your stories could teach
-us a lot."</p>
-
-<p><i>NATURALLY.</i></p>
-
-<p>"And," I continued, gaining confidence now, "you said you were on
-vacation, absorbing some of our literature&mdash;puny as it is.... Have you
-had a taste of anything besides Poe and Shakespeare?"</p>
-
-<p><i>NO. SHOULD I?</i></p>
-
-<p>"Should you? Why you've barely scraped our culture! Tell you what!
-Maybe we can make a deal&mdash;"</p>
-
-<p><i>DEAL? WHAT'S THAT?</i></p>
-
-<p>"I mean, a trade. While you're on vacation I'll swap writers with you.
-I'll type a story, and you reciprocate with one from your library.
-Fair enough?"</p>
-
-<p><i>WELL ... YOU'D BE GETTING THE BEST OF THE BARGAIN....</i></p>
-
-<p>I nodded humbly. "I realize that. But think of the good you'd be doing,
-teaching us barbarians the glorious wonders of your civilization...."</p>
-
-<p>That did it. The machine actually purred.</p>
-
-<p><i>I'LL DO IT. PURELY AS A LARK, OF COURSE....</i></p>
-
-<p>"Fine. We'll begin next week."</p>
-
-<p><i>NEXT WEEK? WHY THE DELAY?</i></p>
-
-<p>"I want to get in a good supply of stories," I said, and got up,
-picking up the Rigel IV manuscript. The machine was silent so I made a
-dash for the door.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Several months have gone by since I sold that first story to a science
-fiction magazine. At top rates, too. I've sold dozens of others since
-then, and my pen-names are getting to be what the editors call "Top
-Favorites".</p>
-
-<p>I'm sitting in my room now&mdash;a penthouse apartment, thank
-you&mdash;surrounded by a lavish library of classic Earth literature.
-Reggie&mdash;that's what I call my collaborator on Rigel IV&mdash;is just
-finishing a new science fiction epic. Then it will be my turn to
-write&mdash;I think I'll give him some Dumas today.</p>
-
-<p>How long can this last? Reggie is on vacation you know. And I've since
-discovered that a Rigel IV vacation is equivalent to a hundred Earth
-years. Which should keep me in champagne and caviar as long as the
-earth classics hold out.</p>
-
-<p>So what's all this got to do with you? A good question and one I don't
-mind answering since you won't believe it anyway.</p>
-
-<p>Where do you think all the stories in IMAGINATION&mdash;and other
-magazines&mdash;have been coming from!</p>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAGIARIST FROM RIGEL IV ***</div>
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