HYSTEREO
By MAURICE BAUDIN
Illustrated by ADKINS
A quiet concert in the evening by the lake ...
a harmless hi-fi hobbyist ... yet why did Woodard
tremble at the sound, sound, sound.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories November 1961.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Daytimes, Woodard wasted little speech on the other guests at the summer hotel. Biddies and garrulous men—fools one and all, he told himself. They had come to be with nature, they said; but the clear, deep lake with its rocks and pointed firs, and the mountains beyond were merely a backdrop for their inane gabble. They had come for health and renewal, clucking of the ravages of city life. Yet scarcely a one but had acquired some absurd malady. They had turned the small hotel into a hospital for twitches and bor-borygms. As if, because they were paying their way, they must give the climate work to do. As if, thought Woodard, they were hiring the warm sunlight, the cool, sweet air, to mend their palsies, tachycardias, facial tics or rheumatic twinges.
Relishing the fact of being resented and the illusion of being sought after, he kept himself to himself.