[Gutenberg 51081] • The Amateurs

The Amateurs

By ALAN COGAN

Illustrated by DIEHL

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Galaxy Science Fiction July 1955.

Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that

the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

The ultimate show demanded the ultimate in

showmanship--now if only Mr. Sims could measure up!

To Mr. Sims, it seemed as though they had walked along a hundred

corridors, and as he followed Mr. Hoode, he felt as though he were

taking the last walk to the gallows or the electric chair. When the

director finally led him outside, Mr. Sims realized with a slight

twinge of fear that he hadn't really expected to see daylight again.

They were in the rich, rolling parkland at the rear of the palace and

walking across the immaculate turf where colored fountains frolicked

and shimmered in the sun. Lilting music floated out from a dozen hidden

sources. The two men sat down on a seat facing the palace with its

towering columns and vast marble steps.

"It's a very nice place," Mr. Sims commented, remembering that he

hadn't said a word for at least five minutes.

"I suppose it's all right," Arthur Hoode agreed, his thin nostrils

twitching condescendingly. He was a small, sleek man with a habit of

emphasizing his words with airy gestures of his slim hands. "That

section of the palace is the part I consider most uninteresting. After

all, there's nothing but row upon row of stuffy little rooms where

people come to die. And they take a long time doing it, too!"

Mr. Sims winced noticeably.

"You'll forgive me if I don't appear overly sanctimonious about death,"

Mr. Hoode said, smiling. "It's just that the other directors and

myself decided we must take a realistic view of the situation. A place

like this could become pretty morbid, you know, and there's actually

no reason why a guest's last hours here shouldn't be pleasant and

satisfying."