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Fan-Atic, v. 1, issue 3, May 1941

Page 19

FAN-ATIC, Vol. 1, No 3.     May 1941.   Page 19
Continued.     THE ULTIMATE
by Joe Gilbert
   Lucre lost his temper. "You go to Hell!"
   "After you, my dear Alphonse," said Sparks.
   "Fort was right!" yelled Lucre.  "You so-called scientists can't see anything but the numbers on your pay checks!  You're about as broadminded as an amoeba with a persecution complex!  If ---"
   "Anyone who'd read Fort and gulp it down whole ---"  began Sparks.  Lucre raised his voice and drowned himout with some unscholarly if impressive reflections on the origin, habits, and capabilities of scientists.  Sparks, unable to make himself heard, started howling "Damn Fort!  Damn Fort!  Oh, damn Fort!" at the top of his voice.  The sight and sound --- Lucre looking like a huge, frustrated bull-ape, and the sound of Sparks' deep bass bellow coming out of his shriveled, small body --- was ludicrous in the extreme.
   Henry Harold Pageant, a fat pompous man with a cherubic face, a pince-nez with a long flowing ribbon, and formal cutaway coat, said loftily, "Your're both behaving like a couple of fools."
   Sparks turned on him like a wounded tiger.
   "Fools!  Listen, bulge-belly, how about that time in New York when you got pie-eyed and rode down the street on a bicycle in striped pajamas and a top-hat, singing 'A Wandering Minstrel'.  And remember that convention inCleveland when you went down into the red-light district, knocked on the door of a strange house, and asked the woman when she came out, if she ---"
    "That has nothing to do with this,"  said Pageant, coloring and interrupting just in time to prevent the narration ofa highly entertaining if lurid anecdote.  "But speaking of private lives, you might explain that night ---"
   The room became a babble of voices, Sparks' bear-like bass rising above them all.
   "I think, " said Knight quietly, "that we might accomplish a bit more if we stopped wrangling and investigated this device."  There was no irritation or anger in his voice, and the inclusion of himself in a brawl of which he had no part was characteristic of him.  His voice had not been raised, but the silence it brought was deep and instantaneous.  The sudden quiet had the effect of making three men realize just how foolish they must have looked.  They swapped sheepish glances.
   Before the argument could be continued, Knight asked, "How does this communicator work, Van?"
   "You might say that it's a sort of scientific pencil,"  said Van Lucre somewhat grumpily.  "There's a moving beam of light that can be shifted in different directions by electrical vibrations.  The message is written by a light moving over sensitized photographic paper like one of our modern telephoto machines.  That's it very basically.  There are a good many special refinements in the machine which I'm not going into with certain individuals present.  "He shot a malicious glare at Sparks.  "The thing's very sensitive; can detect minute electrical vibrations in the infra-short wavelengths of radio.  That's why I've had this section of the laboratory --"  His gesture took in the small, bare room, "partitioned off and shielded.  The message is written on a moving strip of tape which comes out the end there.  I set it up and tested it this morning.  Then I fed it juice.  "He fell silent, studying the machine with something like fear.  "You may not believe me, but . . . but the

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FAN-ATIC, Vol. 1, No 3. May 1941. Page 19 Continued. THE ULTIMATE by Joe Gilbert Lucre lost his temper. "You go to Hell!" "After you, my dear Alphonse," said Sparks. "Fort was right!" yelled Lucre. "You so-called scientists can't see anything but the numbers on your pay checks! You're about as broadminded as an amoeba with a persecution complex! If ---" "Anyone who'd read Fort and gulp it down whole ---" began Sparks. Lucre raised his voice and drowned himout with some unscholarly if impressive reflections on the origin, habits, and capabilities of scientists. Sparks, unable to make himself heard, started howling "Damn Fort! Damn Fort! Oh, damn Fort!" at the top of his voice. The sight and sound --- Lucre looking like a huge, frustrated bull-ape, and the sound of Sparks' deep bass bellow coming out of his shriveled, small body --- was ludicrous in the extreme. Henry Harold Pageant, a fat pompous man with a cherubic face, a pince-nez with a long flowing ribbon, and formal cutaway coat, said loftily, "Your're both behaving like a couple of fools." Sparks turned on him like a wounded tiger. "Fools! Listen, bulge-belly, how about that time in New York when you got pie-eyed and rode down the street on a bicycle in striped pajamas and a top-hat, singing 'A Wandering Minstrel'. And remember that convention inCleveland when you went down into the red-light district, knocked on the door of a strange house, and asked the woman when she came out, if she ---" "That has nothing to do with this," said Pageant, coloring and interrupting just in time to prevent the narration ofa highly entertaining if lurid anecdote. "But speaking of private lives, you might explain that night ---" The room became a babble of voices, Sparks' bear-like bass rising above them all. "I think, " said Knight quietly, "that we might accomplish a bit more if we stopped wrangling and investigated this device." There was no irritation or anger in his voice, and the inclusion of himself in a brawl of which he had no part was characteristic of him. His voice had not been raised, but the silence it brought was deep and instantaneous. The sudden quiet had the effect of making three men realize just how foolish they must have looked. They swapped sheepish glances. Before the argument could be continued, Knight asked, "How does this communicator work, Van?" "You might say that it's a sort of scientific pencil," said Van Lucre somewhat grumpily. "There's a moving beam of light that can be shifted in different directions by electrical vibrations. The message is written by a light moving over sensitized photographic paper like one of our modern telephoto machines. That's it very basically. There are a good many special refinements in the machine which I'm not going into with certain individuals present. "He shot a malicious glare at Sparks. "The thing's very sensitive; can detect minute electrical vibrations in the infra-short wavelengths of radio. That's why I've had this section of the laboratory --" His gesture took in the small, bare room, "partitioned off and shielded. The message is written on a moving strip of tape which comes out the end there. I set it up and tested it this morning. Then I fed it juice. "He fell silent, studying the machine with something like fear. "You may not believe me, but . . . but the