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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29698-h.zip b/29698-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6feb3c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/29698-h.zip diff --git a/29698-h/29698-h.htm b/29698-h/29698-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1bc505e --- /dev/null +++ b/29698-h/29698-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1585 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lighter Than You Think, by Nelson Bond + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2 {text-align: right; font-weight: normal; line-height: 2em;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + .bk1 {margin: 1em auto 3em; border-top: solid 2px; border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bk2 {float: left; width: 15em; margin: 1em 2em 1em 0;} + .pr1 {line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 4em;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 2em auto; visibility: hidden;} + a:link,a:visited {text-decoration: none;} + img {border: none;} + .figt {float: left; clear: left; margin: 15px; padding: 0; width: 147px;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; min-height: 230px;} + .trn p {margin: 15px;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lighter Than You Think, by Nelson Bond + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: Lighter Than You Think + +Author: Nelson Bond + +Release Date: August 15, 2009 [EBook #29698] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIGHTER THAN YOU THINK *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="bk1"><p><i><small>It's possible that you won't agree with us that Pat Pending's latest adventure +is a delightful story—possible IF you haven't been used to +laughing in recent years. Blue Book printed more than a dozen of these +stories by Nelson Bond about the "greatest inventulator of all time".</small></i></p></div> + +<div class="bk2"><h1><b>lighter<br /> +than<br /> +you<br /> +think</b></h1> + +<h2><small><i>by NELSON BOND</i></small></h2> + +<p class="pr1"><big><b>Sandy's eyes needed only jet propulsion to become flying +saucers. Wasn't Pat wonderful? she beamed, at everyone.</b></big></p></div> + +<p><span class="dcap">Some joker</span> in the dear, +dead days now virtually beyond +recall won two-bit immortality +by declaring that, +"What this country needs is +a good five-cent cigar."</p> + +<p>Which is, of course, Victorian +malarkey. What this +country <i>really</i> needs is a good +five-cent nickel. Or perhaps +a good cigar-shaped spaceship. +There's a fortune waiting +somewhere out in space +for the man who can go out +there and claim it. A fortune! +And if you think I'm just +talking through my hat, lend +an ear ...</p> + +<p>Joyce started the whole +thing. Or maybe I did when +for the umpteenth time I suggested +she should marry me. +She smiled in a way that +showed she didn't disapprove +of my persistence, but loosed +a salvo of devastating negatives.</p> + +<p>"No deal," she crisped decisively. +"Know why? No +dough!"</p> + +<p>"But, sugar," I pleaded, +"two can live as cheaply as +one—"</p> + +<p>"This is true," replied +Joyce, "only of guppies. Understand, +Don, I don't mind +changing my name from Carter +to Mallory. In fact, I'd +rather like to. But I have no +desire whatever to be known +to the neighbors as 'that poor +little Mrs. Mallory in last +year's coat.'</p> + +<p>"I'll marry you," she continued +firmly, "when, as and +if you get a promotion."</p> + +<p>Her answer was by no +stretch of the imagination a +reason for loud cheers, handsprings +and cartwheels. Because +I'm a Federal employee. +The United States Patent Office +is my beat. There's one +nice thing to be said about +working for the bewhiskered +old gentleman in the star-spangled +stovepipe and +striped britches: it's permanent. +Once you get your name +inscribed on the list of Civil +Service employees it takes an +act of Congress to blast it off +again. And of course I don't +have to remind you how long +it takes <i>that</i> body of vote-happy +windbags to act. Terrapins +in treacle are greased +lightning by comparison.</p> + +<p>But advancement is painfully +slow in a department +where discharges are unheard +of and resignations rare. +When I started clerking for +this madhouse I was assistant +to the assistant Chief Clerk's +assistant. Now, ten years later, +by dint of mighty effort +and a cultivated facility for +avoiding Senatorial investigations, +I've succeeded in losing +only one of those redundant +adjectives.</p> + +<p>Being my secretary, Joyce +certainly realized this. But +women have a remarkable +ability to separate business +and pleasure. So:</p> + +<p>"A promotion," she insisted. +"Or at least a good, substantial +raise."</p> + +<p>"In case you don't know it," +I told her gloomily, "you are +displaying a lamentably vulgar +interest in one of life's +lesser values. Happiness, not +money, should be man's chief +goal."</p> + +<p>"What good is happiness," +demanded Joyce, "if you can't +buy money with it?"</p> + +<p>"Why hoard lucre?" I +sniffed. "You can't take it +with you."</p> + +<p>"In that case," said Joyce +flatly, "I'm not going. There's +no use arguing, Don. I've +made up my mind—"</p> + +<p>At this moment our dreary +little impasse was ended by a +sudden tumult outside my office. +There was a squealing +shriek, the shuffle of footsteps, +the pounding of fists +upon my door. And over all +the shrill tones of an old, familiar +voice high-pitched in +triumph.</p> + +<p>"Let me in! I've got to see +him instantaceously. This +time I've got it; I've absolutely +<i>got</i> it!"</p> + +<p>Joyce and I gasped, then +broke simultaneously for the +door as it flew open to reveal +a tableau resembling the Laocoon +group <i>sans</i> snake and +party of the third part. Back +to the door and struggling valiantly +to defend it stood the +receptionist, Miss Thomas. +Held briefly but volubly at +bay was a red-thatched, buck-toothed +individual—and I <i>do</i> +mean individual!—with a face +like the map of Eire, who +stopped wrestling as he saw +us, and grinned delightedly.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Mr. Mallory," he +said. "Hi, Miss Joyce."</p> + +<p>"Pat!" we both cried at +once. "Pat Pending!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Miss Thomas, a relative +newcomer to our bailiwick, +seemed baffled by the warmth +of our greeting. She entered +the office with our visitor, +and as Joyce and I pumphandled +him enthusiastically she +asked, "You—you <i>know</i> this +gentleman, Mr. Mallory?"</p> + +<p>"I should say we do!" I +chortled. "Pat, you old naughty +word! Where on earth +have you been hiding lately?"</p> + +<p>"Surely you've heard of the +great Patrick Pending, Miss +Thomas?" asked Joyce.</p> + +<p>"Pending?" faltered Miss +Thomas. "I seem to have +heard the name. Or seen it +somewhere—"</p> + +<p>Pat beamed upon her companionably. +Stepping to my +desk, he up-ended the typewriter +and pointed to a legend +in tiny letters stamped +into the frame: <i>Reg. U.S. Pat. +Off.—Pat. Pending.</i></p> + +<p>"Here, perhaps?" he suggested. +"I invented this. And +the airplane, and the automobile, +and—oh, ever so many +things. You'll find my name +inscribed on every one.</p> + +<p>"I," he announced modestly, +"am Pat Pending—the greatest +inventulator of all time."</p> + +<p>Miss Thomas stared at me +goggle-eyed.</p> + +<p>"<i>Is</i> he?" she demanded. "I +mean—<i>did</i> he?"</p> + +<p>I nodded solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Not only those, but a host +of other marvels. The bacular +clock, the transmatter, the +predictograph—"</p> + +<p>Miss Thomas turned on Pat +a gaze of fawning admiration. +"How wonderful!" she +breathed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing, really," said +Pat, wriggling.</p> + +<p>"But it is! Most of the +things brought here are so +absurd. Automatic hat-tippers, +self-defrosting galoshes, +punching bags that defend +themselves—" Disdainfully +she indicated the display collection +of screwball items we +call our Chamber of Horrors. +"It's simply marvelous to meet +a man who has invented +things really worth while."</p> + +<p>Honestly, the look in her +eyes was sickening. But was +Pat nauseated? Not he! The +big goon was lapping it up +like a famished feline. His +simpering smirk stretched +from ear to there as he murmured, +"Now, Miss Thomas—"</p> + +<p>"Sandra, Mr. Pending," she +sighed softly. "To you just +plain ... Sandy. Please?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Sandy—" Pat +gulped.</p> + +<p>I said disgustedly, "Look, +you two—break it up! Love +at first sight is wonderful in +books, but in a Federal office +I'm pretty sure it's unconstitutional, +and it <i>may</i> be subversive. +Would you mind +coming down to earth? Pat, +you barged in here squalling +about some new invention. Is +that correct?"</p> + +<p>With an effort Pat +wrenched his gaze from his +new-found admirer and nodded +soberly.</p> + +<p>"That's right, Mr. Mallory. +And a great one, too. One that +will revolutionate the world. +Will you give me an applicaceous +form, please? I want to +file it immediately."</p> + +<p>"Not so fast, Pat. You +know the routine. What's the +nature of this remarkable discovery?"</p> + +<p>"You may write it down," +said Pat grandiloquently, "as +Pat Pending's lightening +rod."</p> + +<p>I glanced at Joyce, and she +at me, then both of us at +Pending.</p> + +<p>"But, Pat," I exclaimed, +"that's ridiculous! Ben Franklin +invented the lightning +rod two hundred years ago."</p> + +<p>"I said <i>lightening</i>," retorted +my redheaded friend, "not +<i>lightning</i>. My invention +doesn't conduct electricity <i>to</i> +the ground, but <i>from</i> it." He +brandished a slim baton which +until then I had assumed to +be an ordinary walking-stick. +"With this," he claimed, "I +can make things weigh as +much or as little as I please!"</p> + +<p>The eyes of Sandy Thomas +needed only jet propulsion to +become flying saucers.</p> + +<p>"Isn't he wonderful, Mr. +Mallory?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>But her enthusiasm wasn't +contagious. I glowered at +Pending coldly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now, Pat!" I +scoffed. "You can't really believe +that yourself. After all, +there <i>are</i> such things as basic +principles. Weight is not a +variable factor. And so far as +I know, Congress hasn't repealed +the Law of Gravity."</p> + +<p>Pat sighed regretfully.</p> + +<p>"You're always so hard to +convince, Mr. Mallory," he +complained. "But—oh, well! +Take this."</p> + +<p>He handed me the baton. I +stared at it curiously. It +looked rather like a British +swagger stick: slim, dainty, +well balanced. But the ornamental +gadget at its top was +not commonplace. It seemed +to be a knob or a dial of some +kind, divided into segments +scored with vernier markings. +I gazed at Pending askance.</p> + +<p>"Well, Pat? What now?"</p> + +<p>"How much do you weigh, +Mr. Mallory?"</p> + +<p>"One sixty-five," I answered.</p> + +<p>"You're sure of that?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not. But my bathroom +scales appeared to be. This +morning. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Do you think Miss Joyce +could lift you?"</p> + +<p>I said thoughtfully, "Well, +that's an idea. But I doubt it. +She won't even let me try to +support <i>her</i>."</p> + +<p>"I'm serious, Mr. Mallory. +Do you think she could lift +you with one hand?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly! Of course +not. Nor could you."</p> + +<p>"There's where you're +wrong," said Pending firmly. +"She can—and will."</p> + +<p>He reached forward suddenly +and twisted the metal +cap on the stick in my hands. +As he did so, I loosed a cry +of alarm and almost dropped +the baton. For instantaneously +I experienced a startling, +flighty giddiness, a sudden +loss of weight that made me +feel as if my soles were treading +on sponge rubber, my +shoulders sprouting wings.</p> + +<p>"Hold on to it!" cried Pat. +Then to Joyce, "Lift him, +Miss Joyce."</p> + +<p>Joyce faltered, "How? Like +th-this?" and touched a finger +to my midriff. Immediately +my feet left the floor. I started +flailing futilely to trample +six inches of ozone back to +the solid floorboards. To no +avail. With no effort whatever +Joyce raised me high +above her head until my +dazed dome was shedding +dandruff on the ceiling!</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Mallory," said +Pat, "do you believe me +now?"</p> + +<p>"Get me down out of here!" +I howled. "You <i>know</i> I can't +stand high places!"</p> + +<p>"You now weigh less than +ten pounds—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind the statistics. +I feel like a circus balloon. +How do I get down again?"</p> + +<p>"Turn the knob on the +cane," advised Pat, "to your +normal weight. Careful, now! +<i>Not so fast!</i>"</p> + +<p>His warning came too late. +I hit the deck with a resounding +thud, and the cane came +clattering after. Pat retrieved +it hurriedly, inspected it to +make sure it was not damaged. +I glared at him as I +picked myself off the floor.</p> + +<p>"You might show some interest +in <i>me</i>," I grumbled. "I +doubt if that stick will need +a liniment rubdown tonight. +Okay, Pat. You're right and +I'm wrong, as you usually +are. That modern variation of +a witch's broomstick <i>does</i> +operate. Only—how?"</p> + +<p>"That dial at the top governs +weight," explained Pat. +"When you turn it—"</p> + +<p>"Skip that. I know how it +is operated. I want to know +what makes it work?"</p> + +<p>"Well," explained Pat, "I'm +not certain I can make it +clear, but it's all tied in with +the elemental scientific problems +of mass, weight, gravity +and electric energy. What +<i>is</i> electricity, for example—"</p> + +<p>"I used to know," I +frowned. "But I forget."</p> + +<p>Joyce shook her head sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>"Friends," she intoned, +"let us all bow our heads. +This is a moment of great +tragedy. The only man in the +world who ever knew what +electricity is—and he has forgotten!"</p> + +<p>"That's the whole point," +agreed Pending. "No one +knows what electricity really +is. All we know is how to use +it. Einstein has demonstrated +that the force of gravity and +electrical energy are kindred; +perhaps different aspects of +a common phenomenon. That +was my starting point."</p> + +<p>"So this rod, which enables +you to defy the law of gravity, +is electrical?"</p> + +<p>"Electricaceous," corrected +Pat. "You see, I have transmogrified +the polarifity of +certain ingredular cellulations. +A series of disentrigulated +helicosities, activated by +hypermagnetation, set up a +disruptular wave motion +which results in—counter-gravity!"</p> + +<p>And there you are! Ninety-nine +percent of the time Pat +Pending talks like a normal +human being. But ask him to +explain the mechanism of one +of his inventions and linguistic +hell breaks loose. He +begins jabbering like a schizophrenic +parrot reading a Sanskrit +dictionary backward! I +sighed and surrendered all +hope of ever actually learning +<i>how</i> his great new discovery +worked. I turned my thoughts +to more important matters.</p> + +<p>"Okay, Pat. We'll dismiss +the details as trivial and get +down to brass tacks. What is +your invention used for?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said the redhead.</p> + +<p>"It's not enough that an idea +is practicable," I pointed out. +"It must also be practical to +be of any value in this frenzied +modern era. What good +is your invention?"</p> + +<p>"What good," demanded +Joyce, "is a newborn baby?"</p> + +<p>"Don't change the subject," +I suggested. "Or come to +think of it, maybe you should. +At the diaper level, life is +just one damp thing after +another. But how to turn +Pat's brainchild into cold, +hard cash—that's the question +before the board now.</p> + +<p>"Individual flight <i>a la</i> Superman? +No dice. I can testify +from personal experience +that once you get up there +you're completely out of control. +And I can't see any sense +in humans trying to fly with +jet flames scorching their +base of operations.</p> + +<p>"Elevators? Derricks? +Building cranes? Possible. +But lifting a couple hundred +pounds is one thing. Lifting +a few tons is a horse of a different +color.</p> + +<p>"No, Pat," I continued, "I +don't see just how—"</p> + +<p>Sandy Thomas squeaked +suddenly and grasped my +arm.</p> + +<p>"That's it, Mr. Mallory!" +she cried. "That's it!"</p> + +<p>"Huh? What's what?"</p> + +<p>"You wanted to know how +Pat could make money from +his invention. You've just answered +your own question."</p> + +<p>"I have?"</p> + +<p>"Horses! Horse racing, to +be exact. You've heard of +handicaps, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm overwhelmed with +them," I nodded wearily. "A +secretary who repulses my +honorable advances, a receptionist +who squeals in my +ear—"</p> + +<p>"Listen, Mr. Mallory, +what's the last thing horses do +before they go to the post?"</p> + +<p>"Check the tote board," I +said promptly, "to find out if +I've got any money on them. +Horses hate me. They've +formed an equine conspiracy +to prove to me the ancient +adage that a fool and his money +are soon parted."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute!" chimed in +Joyce thoughtfully. "I know +what Sandy means. They +weigh in. Is that right?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly! The more weight +a horse is bearing, the slower +it runs. That's the purpose of +handicapping. But if a horse +that was supposed to be carrying +more than a hundred +pounds was actually only carrying +<i>ten</i>—Well, you see?"</p> + +<p>Sandy paused, breathless. I +stared at her with a gathering +respect.</p> + +<p>"Never underestimate the +power of a woman," I said, +"when it comes to devising +new and ingenious methods of +perpetrating petty larceny. +There's only one small fly in +the ointment, so far as I can +see. How do we convince some +racehorse owner he should become +a party to this gentle +felony?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't have to," +smiled Sandy cheerfully. "I'm +already convinced."</p> + +<p>"You? You own a horse?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Haven't you ever +heard of Tapwater?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure! That drip's running +all the time!"</p> + +<p>Joyce tossed me a reproving +glance.</p> + +<p>"This is a matter of gravity, +Donald," she stated, "and you +keep treating it with levity. +Sandy, do you <i>really</i> own +Tapwater? He's the colt who +won the Monmouth Futurity, +isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"That's right. And four +other starts this season. That's +been our big trouble. He +shows such promise that the +judges have placed him under +a terrific weight handicap. To +run in next week's Gold +Stakes, for instance, he would +have to carry 124 pounds. I +was hesitant to enter him because +of that. But with Pat's +new invention—" She turned +to Pat, eyes glowing—"he +could enter and win!"</p> + +<p>Pat said uncertainly, "I +don't know. I don't like gambling. +And it doesn't seem +quite ethical, somehow—"</p> + +<p>I asked Sandy, "Suppose he +ran carrying 124. What would +be the probable odds?"</p> + +<p>"High," she replied, "<i>Very</i> +high. Perhaps as high as forty +to one."</p> + +<p>"In that case," I decided, +"it's not only ethical, it's a +moral obligation. If you're opposed +to gambling, Pat, what +better way can you think of to +put the parimutuels out of +business?"</p> + +<p>"And besides," Sandy pointed +out, "this would be a wonderful +opportunity to display +your new discovery before an +audience of thousands. Well, +Pat? What do you say?"</p> + +<p>Pat hesitated, caught a +glimpse of Sandy's pleading +eyes, and was lost.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said. "We'll +do it. Mr. Mallory, enter Tapwater +in the Gold Stakes. +We'll put on the most spectaceous +exhibition in the history +of gambilizing!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Thus it was that approximately +one week later our piratical +little crew was assembled +once again, this time in +the paddock at Laurel. In +case you're an inland aborigine, +let me explain that Laurel +race track (from the township +of the same name) is +where horse fanciers from the +District of Columbia go to +abandon their Capitol and +capital on weekends.</p> + +<p>We were briefing our jockey—a +scrawny youth with a +pair of oversized ears—on the +use of Pat's lightening rod. +Being short on gray matter as +well as on stature, he wasn't +getting it at all.</p> + +<p>"You mean," he said for the +third or thirty-third time, +"you don't want I should <i>hit</i> +the nag with this bat?"</p> + +<p>"Heavens, no!" gasped Pat, +blanching. "It's much too delicate +for that."</p> + +<p>"Don't fool yourself, mister. +Horses can stand a lot of +leather."</p> + +<p>"Not the horse, stupid," I +said. "The bat. This is the +only riding crop of its kind in +the world. We don't want it +damaged. All you have to do +is <i>carry</i> it. We'll do the rest."</p> + +<p>"How about setting the +dial, Don?" asked Joyce.</p> + +<p>"Pat will do that just before +the horses move onto the +track. Now let's get going. +It's weigh-in time."</p> + +<p>We moved to the scales +with our rider. He stepped +aboard the platform, complete +with silks and saddle, and the +spinner leaped to a staggering +102, whereupon the officials +started gravely handing him +little leather sacks.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" I whispered +to Sandy. "Prizes for malnutrition? +He must have won all +the blackjacks east of the Mississippi."</p> + +<p>"The handicap," she whispered +back. "Lead weights at +one pound each."</p> + +<p>"If he starts to lose," I ruminated, +"they'd make wonderful +ammunition—"</p> + +<p>"One hundred and twenty-four," +announced the chief +weigher-inner. "Next entry!"</p> + +<p>We returned to Tapwater. +The jockey fastened the +weights to his gear, saddled +up and mounted. From the +track came the traditional bugle +call. Sandy nodded to Pat.</p> + +<p>"All right, Pat. Now!"</p> + +<p>Pending twisted the knob +on his lightening rod and +handed the stick to the jockey. +The little horseman +gasped, rose three inches in +his stirrups, and almost let +go of the baton.</p> + +<p>"H-hey!" he exclaimed. "I +feel funny. I feel—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind that," I told +him. "Just you hold on to that +rod until the race is over. +And when you come back, give +it to Pat immediately. Understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But I feel so—so +lightheaded—"</p> + +<p>"That's because you're +featherbrained," I advised +him. "Now, get going. Giddyap, +Dobbin!"</p> + +<p>I patted Tapwater's flank, +and so help me Newton, I +think that one gentle tap +pushed the colt half way to +the starting gate! He pattered +across the turf with a curious +bouncing gait as if he were +running on tiptoe. We hastened +to our seats in the +grandstand.</p> + +<p>"Did you get all the bets +down?" asked Joyce.</p> + +<p>I nodded and displayed a +deck of ducats. "It may not +have occurred to you, my +sweet," I announced gleefully, +"but these pasteboards are +transferrable on demand to +rice and old shoes, the sweet +strains of <i>Oh, Promise Me!</i> +and the scent of orange blossoms. +You insisted I should +have a nest egg before you +would murmur, 'I do'? Well, +after this race these tickets +will be worth—" I cast a +swift last glance at the tote +board's closing odds, quoting +Tapwater at 35 to 1—"approximately +seventy thousand dollars!"</p> + +<p>"Donald!" gasped Joyce. +"You didn't bet all your savings?"</p> + +<p>"Every cent," I told her +cheerfully. "Why not?"</p> + +<p>"But if something should +go wrong! If Tapwater should +lose!"</p> + +<p>"He won't. See what I +mean?"</p> + +<p>For even as we were talking, +the bell jangled, the crowd +roared, and the horses were +off. Eight entries surged +from the starting gate. And +already one full length out in +front pranced the weight-free, +lightfoot Tapwater!</p> + +<p>At the quarter post our colt +had stretched his lead to +three lengths, and I shouted +in Pending's ear, "How much +does that jockey weigh, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"About six pounds," said +Pat. "I turned the knob to +cancel one eighteen."</p> + +<p>At the half, all the other +horses could glimpse of Tapwater +was heels. At the three-quarter +post he was so far +ahead that the jockey must +have been lonely. As he +rounded into the stretch I +caught a binocular view of his +face, and he looked dazed and +a little frightened. He wasn't +actually <i>riding</i> Tapwater. The +colt was simply skimming +home, and he was holding on +for dear life to make sure he +didn't blow off the horse's +back. The result was a foregone +conclusion, of course. +Tapwater crossed the finish +line nine lengths ahead, setting +a new track record.</p> + +<p>The crowd went wild. Over +the hubbub I clutched Pat's +arm and bawled, "I'll go collect +our winnings. Hurry +down to the track and swap +that lightening rod for the +real bat we brought along. +He'll have to weigh out +again, you know. Scoot!"</p> + +<p>The others vanished paddockward +as I went for the +big payoff. It was dreary at +the totalizer windows. I was +one of a scant handful who +had bet on Tapwater, so it +took no time at all to scoop +into the valise I had brought +along the seventy thousand +bucks in crisp, green lettuce +which an awed teller passed +across the counter. Then I +hurried back to join the others +in the winner's circle, +where bedlam was not only +reigning but pouring. Flashbulbs +were popping all over +the place, cameramen were +screaming for just one more +of the jockey, the owner, the +fabulous Tapwater. The officials +were vainly striving to +quiet the tumult so they +could award the prize. I +found Pending worming his +way out of the heart of the +crowd.</p> + +<p>"Did you get it?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>He nodded, thrust the +knobbed baton into my hand.</p> + +<p>"You substituted the normal +one?"</p> + +<p>Again he nodded. Hastily I +thrust the lightening rod out +of sight into my valise, and +we elbowed forward to share +the triumphant moment. It +was a great experience. I felt +giddy with joy; I was walking +on little pink clouds of +happiness. Security was mine +at last. And Joyce, as well.</p> + +<p>"Ladies and gentlemen!" +cried the chief official. "Your +attention, please! Today we +have witnessed a truly spectacular +feat: the setting of a +new track record by a champion +racing under a tremendous +handicap. I give you a +magnificent racehorse—<i>Tapwater</i>!"</p> + +<p>"That's right, folks!" I +bawled, carried away by the +excitement. "Give this little +horse a great big hand!"</p> + +<p>Setting the example, I laid +down the bag, started clapping +vigorously. From a distance +I heard Pat Pending's +agonized scream.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Mallory—the suitcase! +Grab it!"</p> + +<p>I glanced down, belatedly +aware of the danger of theft. +But too late. The bag had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Hey!" I yelled. "Who +swiped my bag? Police!"</p> + +<p>"Up there, Mr. Mallory!" +bawled Pat. "Jump!"</p> + +<p>I glanced skyward. Three +feet above my head and rising +swiftly was the valise in +which I had cached not only +our winnings but Pat's gravity-defying +rod! I leaped—but +in vain. I was <i>still</i> making +feeble, futile efforts to +make like the moon-hurdling +nursery rhyme cow when +quite a while later two strong +young men in white jackets +came and jabbed me with a +sedative ...</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Later, when time and +barbiturates had dulled the +biting edge of my despair, we +assembled once again in my +office and I made my apologies +to my friends.</p> + +<p>"It was all my fault," I +acknowledged. "I should have +realized Pat hadn't readjusted +the rod when I placed it +in my bag. It felt lighter. But +I was so excited—"</p> + +<p>"It was <i>my</i> fault," mourned +Pat, "for not changing it immediately. +But I was afraid +someone might see me."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps if we hired an +airplane—?" I suggested.</p> + +<p>Pat shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Mallory. The rod +was set to cancel 118 pounds. +The bag weighed less than +twenty. It will go miles beyond +the reach of any airplane +before it settles into an +orbit around earth."</p> + +<p>"Well, there goes my +dreamed-of fortune," I said +sadly. "Accompanied by the +fading strains of an unplayed +wedding march. I'm sorry, +Joyce."</p> + +<p>"Isn't there one thing you +folks are overlooking?" asked +Sandy Thomas. "My goodness, +you'd think we had lost +our last cent just because that +little old bag flew away!"</p> + +<p>"For your information," I +told her, "that is precisely +what happened to me. My entire +bank account vanished +into the wild blue yonder. +And some of Pat's money, +too."</p> + +<p>"But have you forgotten," +she insisted, "that we <i>won</i> +the race? Of course the track +officials were a wee bit suspicious +when your suitcase +took off. But they couldn't +prove anything. So they paid +me the Gold Stakes prize. If +we split it four ways, we all +make a nice little profit.</p> + +<p>"Or," she added, "if you +and Joyce want to make yours +a double share, we could split +it three ways.</p> + +<p>"Or," she continued hopefully, +"if Pat wants to, we +could make <i>two</i> double shares, +and split it fifty-fifty?"</p> + +<p>From the look in Pat's eyes +I knew he was stunned by +this possibility. And from the +look in hers, I felt she was +going to make every effort to +take advantage of his bewilderment.</p> + +<p>So, as I said before, what +this country needs is a good +cigar-shaped spaceship. +There's a fortune waiting +somewhere out in space for +the man who can go out there +and claim it. Seventy thousand +bucks in cold, hard cash.</p> + +<p>Indubitatiously!</p> + +<div class="trn"><div class="figt"><a href="images/001-2.jpg"><img src="images/001-1.jpg" width="147" height="200" alt="" title="" /></a></div> + +<p><b><big>Transcriber's Note:</big></b></p> + +<p>This etext was produced from <i>Fantastic Universe</i> August 1957. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lighter Than You Think, by Nelson Bond + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIGHTER THAN YOU THINK *** + +***** This file should be named 29698-h.htm or 29698-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/6/9/29698/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 + + +Title: Lighter Than You Think + +Author: Nelson Bond + +Release Date: August 15, 2009 [EBook #29698] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIGHTER THAN YOU THINK *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + _It's possible that you won't agree with us that Pat Pending's + latest adventure is a delightful story--possible IF you haven't been + used to laughing in recent years. Blue Book printed more than a + dozen of these stories by Nelson Bond about the "greatest + inventulator of all time"._ + + + lighter + than + you + think + + _by NELSON BOND_ + + + Sandy's eyes needed only jet propulsion to become flying + saucers. Wasn't Pat wonderful? she beamed, at everyone. + + +Some joker in the dear, dead days now virtually beyond recall won +two-bit immortality by declaring that, "What this country needs is a +good five-cent cigar." + +Which is, of course, Victorian malarkey. What this country _really_ +needs is a good five-cent nickel. Or perhaps a good cigar-shaped +spaceship. There's a fortune waiting somewhere out in space for the man +who can go out there and claim it. A fortune! And if you think I'm just +talking through my hat, lend an ear ... + +Joyce started the whole thing. Or maybe I did when for the umpteenth +time I suggested she should marry me. She smiled in a way that showed +she didn't disapprove of my persistence, but loosed a salvo of +devastating negatives. + +"No deal," she crisped decisively. "Know why? No dough!" + +"But, sugar," I pleaded, "two can live as cheaply as one--" + +"This is true," replied Joyce, "only of guppies. Understand, Don, I +don't mind changing my name from Carter to Mallory. In fact, I'd rather +like to. But I have no desire whatever to be known to the neighbors as +'that poor little Mrs. Mallory in last year's coat.' + +"I'll marry you," she continued firmly, "when, as and if you get a +promotion." + +Her answer was by no stretch of the imagination a reason for loud +cheers, handsprings and cartwheels. Because I'm a Federal employee. The +United States Patent Office is my beat. There's one nice thing to be +said about working for the bewhiskered old gentleman in the +star-spangled stovepipe and striped britches: it's permanent. Once you +get your name inscribed on the list of Civil Service employees it takes +an act of Congress to blast it off again. And of course I don't have to +remind you how long it takes _that_ body of vote-happy windbags to act. +Terrapins in treacle are greased lightning by comparison. + +But advancement is painfully slow in a department where discharges are +unheard of and resignations rare. When I started clerking for this +madhouse I was assistant to the assistant Chief Clerk's assistant. Now, +ten years later, by dint of mighty effort and a cultivated facility for +avoiding Senatorial investigations, I've succeeded in losing only one of +those redundant adjectives. + +Being my secretary, Joyce certainly realized this. But women have a +remarkable ability to separate business and pleasure. So: + +"A promotion," she insisted. "Or at least a good, substantial raise." + +"In case you don't know it," I told her gloomily, "you are displaying a +lamentably vulgar interest in one of life's lesser values. Happiness, +not money, should be man's chief goal." + +"What good is happiness," demanded Joyce, "if you can't buy money with +it?" + +"Why hoard lucre?" I sniffed. "You can't take it with you." + +"In that case," said Joyce flatly, "I'm not going. There's no use +arguing, Don. I've made up my mind--" + +At this moment our dreary little impasse was ended by a sudden tumult +outside my office. There was a squealing shriek, the shuffle of +footsteps, the pounding of fists upon my door. And over all the shrill +tones of an old, familiar voice high-pitched in triumph. + +"Let me in! I've got to see him instantaceously. This time I've got it; +I've absolutely _got_ it!" + +Joyce and I gasped, then broke simultaneously for the door as it flew +open to reveal a tableau resembling the Laocoon group _sans_ snake and +party of the third part. Back to the door and struggling valiantly to +defend it stood the receptionist, Miss Thomas. Held briefly but volubly +at bay was a red-thatched, buck-toothed individual--and I _do_ mean +individual!--with a face like the map of Eire, who stopped wrestling as +he saw us, and grinned delightedly. + +"Hello, Mr. Mallory," he said. "Hi, Miss Joyce." + +"Pat!" we both cried at once. "Pat Pending!" + + * * * * * + +Miss Thomas, a relative newcomer to our bailiwick, seemed baffled by the +warmth of our greeting. She entered the office with our visitor, and as +Joyce and I pumphandled him enthusiastically she asked, "You--you _know_ +this gentleman, Mr. Mallory?" + +"I should say we do!" I chortled. "Pat, you old naughty word! Where on +earth have you been hiding lately?" + +"Surely you've heard of the great Patrick Pending, Miss Thomas?" asked +Joyce. + +"Pending?" faltered Miss Thomas. "I seem to have heard the name. Or seen +it somewhere--" + +Pat beamed upon her companionably. Stepping to my desk, he up-ended the +typewriter and pointed to a legend in tiny letters stamped into the +frame: _Reg. U.S. Pat. Off.--Pat. Pending._ + +"Here, perhaps?" he suggested. "I invented this. And the airplane, and +the automobile, and--oh, ever so many things. You'll find my name +inscribed on every one. + +"I," he announced modestly, "am Pat Pending--the greatest inventulator +of all time." + +Miss Thomas stared at me goggle-eyed. + +"_Is_ he?" she demanded. "I mean--_did_ he?" + +I nodded solemnly. + +"Not only those, but a host of other marvels. The bacular clock, the +transmatter, the predictograph--" + +Miss Thomas turned on Pat a gaze of fawning admiration. "How wonderful!" +she breathed. + +"Oh, nothing, really," said Pat, wriggling. + +"But it is! Most of the things brought here are so absurd. Automatic +hat-tippers, self-defrosting galoshes, punching bags that defend +themselves--" Disdainfully she indicated the display collection of +screwball items we call our Chamber of Horrors. "It's simply marvelous +to meet a man who has invented things really worth while." + +Honestly, the look in her eyes was sickening. But was Pat nauseated? Not +he! The big goon was lapping it up like a famished feline. His simpering +smirk stretched from ear to there as he murmured, "Now, Miss Thomas--" + +"Sandra, Mr. Pending," she sighed softly. "To you just plain ... Sandy. +Please?" + +"Well, Sandy--" Pat gulped. + +I said disgustedly, "Look, you two--break it up! Love at first sight is +wonderful in books, but in a Federal office I'm pretty sure it's +unconstitutional, and it _may_ be subversive. Would you mind coming down +to earth? Pat, you barged in here squalling about some new invention. Is +that correct?" + +With an effort Pat wrenched his gaze from his new-found admirer and +nodded soberly. + +"That's right, Mr. Mallory. And a great one, too. One that will +revolutionate the world. Will you give me an applicaceous form, please? +I want to file it immediately." + +"Not so fast, Pat. You know the routine. What's the nature of this +remarkable discovery?" + +"You may write it down," said Pat grandiloquently, "as Pat Pending's +lightening rod." + +I glanced at Joyce, and she at me, then both of us at Pending. + +"But, Pat," I exclaimed, "that's ridiculous! Ben Franklin invented the +lightning rod two hundred years ago." + +"I said _lightening_," retorted my redheaded friend, "not _lightning_. +My invention doesn't conduct electricity _to_ the ground, but _from_ +it." He brandished a slim baton which until then I had assumed to be an +ordinary walking-stick. "With this," he claimed, "I can make things +weigh as much or as little as I please!" + +The eyes of Sandy Thomas needed only jet propulsion to become flying +saucers. + +"Isn't he wonderful, Mr. Mallory?" she gasped. + +But her enthusiasm wasn't contagious. I glowered at Pending coldly. + +"Oh, come now, Pat!" I scoffed. "You can't really believe that yourself. +After all, there _are_ such things as basic principles. Weight is not a +variable factor. And so far as I know, Congress hasn't repealed the Law +of Gravity." + +Pat sighed regretfully. + +"You're always so hard to convince, Mr. Mallory," he complained. +"But--oh, well! Take this." + +He handed me the baton. I stared at it curiously. It looked rather like +a British swagger stick: slim, dainty, well balanced. But the ornamental +gadget at its top was not commonplace. It seemed to be a knob or a dial +of some kind, divided into segments scored with vernier markings. I +gazed at Pending askance. + +"Well, Pat? What now?" + +"How much do you weigh, Mr. Mallory?" + +"One sixty-five," I answered. + +"You're sure of that?" + +"I'm not. But my bathroom scales appeared to be. This morning. Why?" + +"Do you think Miss Joyce could lift you?" + +I said thoughtfully, "Well, that's an idea. But I doubt it. She won't +even let me try to support _her_." + +"I'm serious, Mr. Mallory. Do you think she could lift you with one +hand?" + +"Don't be silly! Of course not. Nor could you." + +"There's where you're wrong," said Pending firmly. "She can--and will." + +He reached forward suddenly and twisted the metal cap on the stick in my +hands. As he did so, I loosed a cry of alarm and almost dropped the +baton. For instantaneously I experienced a startling, flighty giddiness, +a sudden loss of weight that made me feel as if my soles were treading +on sponge rubber, my shoulders sprouting wings. + +"Hold on to it!" cried Pat. Then to Joyce, "Lift him, Miss Joyce." + +Joyce faltered, "How? Like th-this?" and touched a finger to my midriff. +Immediately my feet left the floor. I started flailing futilely to +trample six inches of ozone back to the solid floorboards. To no avail. +With no effort whatever Joyce raised me high above her head until my +dazed dome was shedding dandruff on the ceiling! + +"Well, Mr. Mallory," said Pat, "do you believe me now?" + +"Get me down out of here!" I howled. "You _know_ I can't stand high +places!" + +"You now weigh less than ten pounds--" + +"Never mind the statistics. I feel like a circus balloon. How do I get +down again?" + +"Turn the knob on the cane," advised Pat, "to your normal weight. +Careful, now! _Not so fast!_" + +His warning came too late. I hit the deck with a resounding thud, and +the cane came clattering after. Pat retrieved it hurriedly, inspected it +to make sure it was not damaged. I glared at him as I picked myself off +the floor. + +"You might show some interest in _me_," I grumbled. "I doubt if that +stick will need a liniment rubdown tonight. Okay, Pat. You're right and +I'm wrong, as you usually are. That modern variation of a witch's +broomstick _does_ operate. Only--how?" + +"That dial at the top governs weight," explained Pat. "When you turn +it--" + +"Skip that. I know how it is operated. I want to know what makes it +work?" + +"Well," explained Pat, "I'm not certain I can make it clear, but it's +all tied in with the elemental scientific problems of mass, weight, +gravity and electric energy. What _is_ electricity, for example--" + +"I used to know," I frowned. "But I forget." + +Joyce shook her head sorrowfully. + +"Friends," she intoned, "let us all bow our heads. This is a moment of +great tragedy. The only man in the world who ever knew what electricity +is--and he has forgotten!" + +"That's the whole point," agreed Pending. "No one knows what +electricity really is. All we know is how to use it. Einstein has +demonstrated that the force of gravity and electrical energy are +kindred; perhaps different aspects of a common phenomenon. That was my +starting point." + +"So this rod, which enables you to defy the law of gravity, is +electrical?" + +"Electricaceous," corrected Pat. "You see, I have transmogrified the +polarifity of certain ingredular cellulations. A series of +disentrigulated helicosities, activated by hypermagnetation, set up a +disruptular wave motion which results in--counter-gravity!" + +And there you are! Ninety-nine percent of the time Pat Pending talks +like a normal human being. But ask him to explain the mechanism of one +of his inventions and linguistic hell breaks loose. He begins jabbering +like a schizophrenic parrot reading a Sanskrit dictionary backward! I +sighed and surrendered all hope of ever actually learning _how_ his +great new discovery worked. I turned my thoughts to more important +matters. + +"Okay, Pat. We'll dismiss the details as trivial and get down to brass +tacks. What is your invention used for?" + +"Eh?" said the redhead. + +"It's not enough that an idea is practicable," I pointed out. "It must +also be practical to be of any value in this frenzied modern era. What +good is your invention?" + +"What good," demanded Joyce, "is a newborn baby?" + +"Don't change the subject," I suggested. "Or come to think of it, maybe +you should. At the diaper level, life is just one damp thing after +another. But how to turn Pat's brainchild into cold, hard cash--that's +the question before the board now. + +"Individual flight _a la_ Superman? No dice. I can testify from personal +experience that once you get up there you're completely out of control. +And I can't see any sense in humans trying to fly with jet flames +scorching their base of operations. + +"Elevators? Derricks? Building cranes? Possible. But lifting a couple +hundred pounds is one thing. Lifting a few tons is a horse of a +different color. + +"No, Pat," I continued, "I don't see just how--" + +Sandy Thomas squeaked suddenly and grasped my arm. + +"That's it, Mr. Mallory!" she cried. "That's it!" + +"Huh? What's what?" + +"You wanted to know how Pat could make money from his invention. You've +just answered your own question." + +"I have?" + +"Horses! Horse racing, to be exact. You've heard of handicaps, haven't +you?" + +"I'm overwhelmed with them," I nodded wearily. "A secretary who repulses +my honorable advances, a receptionist who squeals in my ear--" + +"Listen, Mr. Mallory, what's the last thing horses do before they go to +the post?" + +"Check the tote board," I said promptly, "to find out if I've got any +money on them. Horses hate me. They've formed an equine conspiracy to +prove to me the ancient adage that a fool and his money are soon +parted." + +"Wait a minute!" chimed in Joyce thoughtfully. "I know what Sandy means. +They weigh in. Is that right?" + +"Exactly! The more weight a horse is bearing, the slower it runs. That's +the purpose of handicapping. But if a horse that was supposed to be +carrying more than a hundred pounds was actually only carrying +_ten_--Well, you see?" + +Sandy paused, breathless. I stared at her with a gathering respect. + +"Never underestimate the power of a woman," I said, "when it comes to +devising new and ingenious methods of perpetrating petty larceny. +There's only one small fly in the ointment, so far as I can see. How do +we convince some racehorse owner he should become a party to this gentle +felony?" + +"Oh, you don't have to," smiled Sandy cheerfully. "I'm already +convinced." + +"You? You own a horse?" + +"Yes. Haven't you ever heard of Tapwater?" + +"Oh, sure! That drip's running all the time!" + +Joyce tossed me a reproving glance. + +"This is a matter of gravity, Donald," she stated, "and you keep +treating it with levity. Sandy, do you _really_ own Tapwater? He's the +colt who won the Monmouth Futurity, isn't he?" + +"That's right. And four other starts this season. That's been our big +trouble. He shows such promise that the judges have placed him under a +terrific weight handicap. To run in next week's Gold Stakes, for +instance, he would have to carry 124 pounds. I was hesitant to enter him +because of that. But with Pat's new invention--" She turned to Pat, eyes +glowing--"he could enter and win!" + +Pat said uncertainly, "I don't know. I don't like gambling. And it +doesn't seem quite ethical, somehow--" + +I asked Sandy, "Suppose he ran carrying 124. What would be the probable +odds?" + +"High," she replied, "_Very_ high. Perhaps as high as forty to one." + +"In that case," I decided, "it's not only ethical, it's a moral +obligation. If you're opposed to gambling, Pat, what better way can you +think of to put the parimutuels out of business?" + +"And besides," Sandy pointed out, "this would be a wonderful opportunity +to display your new discovery before an audience of thousands. Well, +Pat? What do you say?" + +Pat hesitated, caught a glimpse of Sandy's pleading eyes, and was lost. + +"Very well," he said. "We'll do it. Mr. Mallory, enter Tapwater in the +Gold Stakes. We'll put on the most spectaceous exhibition in the history +of gambilizing!" + + * * * * * + +Thus it was that approximately one week later our piratical little crew +was assembled once again, this time in the paddock at Laurel. In case +you're an inland aborigine, let me explain that Laurel race track (from +the township of the same name) is where horse fanciers from the District +of Columbia go to abandon their Capitol and capital on weekends. + +We were briefing our jockey--a scrawny youth with a pair of oversized +ears--on the use of Pat's lightening rod. Being short on gray matter as +well as on stature, he wasn't getting it at all. + +"You mean," he said for the third or thirty-third time, "you don't want +I should _hit_ the nag with this bat?" + +"Heavens, no!" gasped Pat, blanching. "It's much too delicate for that." + +"Don't fool yourself, mister. Horses can stand a lot of leather." + +"Not the horse, stupid," I said. "The bat. This is the only riding crop +of its kind in the world. We don't want it damaged. All you have to do +is _carry_ it. We'll do the rest." + +"How about setting the dial, Don?" asked Joyce. + +"Pat will do that just before the horses move onto the track. Now let's +get going. It's weigh-in time." + +We moved to the scales with our rider. He stepped aboard the platform, +complete with silks and saddle, and the spinner leaped to a staggering +102, whereupon the officials started gravely handing him little leather +sacks. + +"What's this?" I whispered to Sandy. "Prizes for malnutrition? He must +have won all the blackjacks east of the Mississippi." + +"The handicap," she whispered back. "Lead weights at one pound each." + +"If he starts to lose," I ruminated, "they'd make wonderful +ammunition--" + +"One hundred and twenty-four," announced the chief weigher-inner. "Next +entry!" + +We returned to Tapwater. The jockey fastened the weights to his gear, +saddled up and mounted. From the track came the traditional bugle call. +Sandy nodded to Pat. + +"All right, Pat. Now!" + +Pending twisted the knob on his lightening rod and handed the stick to +the jockey. The little horseman gasped, rose three inches in his +stirrups, and almost let go of the baton. + +"H-hey!" he exclaimed. "I feel funny. I feel--" + +"Never mind that," I told him. "Just you hold on to that rod until the +race is over. And when you come back, give it to Pat immediately. +Understand?" + +"Yes. But I feel so--so lightheaded--" + +"That's because you're featherbrained," I advised him. "Now, get going. +Giddyap, Dobbin!" + +I patted Tapwater's flank, and so help me Newton, I think that one +gentle tap pushed the colt half way to the starting gate! He pattered +across the turf with a curious bouncing gait as if he were running on +tiptoe. We hastened to our seats in the grandstand. + +"Did you get all the bets down?" asked Joyce. + +I nodded and displayed a deck of ducats. "It may not have occurred to +you, my sweet," I announced gleefully, "but these pasteboards are +transferrable on demand to rice and old shoes, the sweet strains of _Oh, +Promise Me!_ and the scent of orange blossoms. You insisted I should +have a nest egg before you would murmur, 'I do'? Well, after this race +these tickets will be worth--" I cast a swift last glance at the tote +board's closing odds, quoting Tapwater at 35 to 1--"approximately +seventy thousand dollars!" + +"Donald!" gasped Joyce. "You didn't bet all your savings?" + +"Every cent," I told her cheerfully. "Why not?" + +"But if something should go wrong! If Tapwater should lose!" + +"He won't. See what I mean?" + +For even as we were talking, the bell jangled, the crowd roared, and the +horses were off. Eight entries surged from the starting gate. And +already one full length out in front pranced the weight-free, lightfoot +Tapwater! + +At the quarter post our colt had stretched his lead to three lengths, +and I shouted in Pending's ear, "How much does that jockey weigh, +anyway?" + +"About six pounds," said Pat. "I turned the knob to cancel one +eighteen." + +At the half, all the other horses could glimpse of Tapwater was heels. +At the three-quarter post he was so far ahead that the jockey must have +been lonely. As he rounded into the stretch I caught a binocular view of +his face, and he looked dazed and a little frightened. He wasn't +actually _riding_ Tapwater. The colt was simply skimming home, and he +was holding on for dear life to make sure he didn't blow off the horse's +back. The result was a foregone conclusion, of course. Tapwater crossed +the finish line nine lengths ahead, setting a new track record. + +The crowd went wild. Over the hubbub I clutched Pat's arm and bawled, +"I'll go collect our winnings. Hurry down to the track and swap that +lightening rod for the real bat we brought along. He'll have to weigh +out again, you know. Scoot!" + +The others vanished paddockward as I went for the big payoff. It was +dreary at the totalizer windows. I was one of a scant handful who had +bet on Tapwater, so it took no time at all to scoop into the valise I +had brought along the seventy thousand bucks in crisp, green lettuce +which an awed teller passed across the counter. Then I hurried back to +join the others in the winner's circle, where bedlam was not only +reigning but pouring. Flashbulbs were popping all over the place, +cameramen were screaming for just one more of the jockey, the owner, the +fabulous Tapwater. The officials were vainly striving to quiet the +tumult so they could award the prize. I found Pending worming his way +out of the heart of the crowd. + +"Did you get it?" I demanded. + +He nodded, thrust the knobbed baton into my hand. + +"You substituted the normal one?" + +Again he nodded. Hastily I thrust the lightening rod out of sight into +my valise, and we elbowed forward to share the triumphant moment. It was +a great experience. I felt giddy with joy; I was walking on little pink +clouds of happiness. Security was mine at last. And Joyce, as well. + +"Ladies and gentlemen!" cried the chief official. "Your attention, +please! Today we have witnessed a truly spectacular feat: the setting of +a new track record by a champion racing under a tremendous handicap. I +give you a magnificent racehorse--_Tapwater_!" + +"That's right, folks!" I bawled, carried away by the excitement. "Give +this little horse a great big hand!" + +Setting the example, I laid down the bag, started clapping vigorously. +From a distance I heard Pat Pending's agonized scream. + +"Mr. Mallory--the suitcase! Grab it!" + +I glanced down, belatedly aware of the danger of theft. But too late. +The bag had disappeared. + +"Hey!" I yelled. "Who swiped my bag? Police!" + +"Up there, Mr. Mallory!" bawled Pat. "Jump!" + +I glanced skyward. Three feet above my head and rising swiftly was the +valise in which I had cached not only our winnings but Pat's +gravity-defying rod! I leaped--but in vain. I was _still_ making feeble, +futile efforts to make like the moon-hurdling nursery rhyme cow when +quite a while later two strong young men in white jackets came and +jabbed me with a sedative ... + + * * * * * + +Later, when time and barbiturates had dulled the biting edge of my +despair, we assembled once again in my office and I made my apologies to +my friends. + +"It was all my fault," I acknowledged. "I should have realized Pat +hadn't readjusted the rod when I placed it in my bag. It felt lighter. +But I was so excited--" + +"It was _my_ fault," mourned Pat, "for not changing it immediately. But +I was afraid someone might see me." + +"Perhaps if we hired an airplane--?" I suggested. + +Pat shook his head. + +"No, Mr. Mallory. The rod was set to cancel 118 pounds. The bag weighed +less than twenty. It will go miles beyond the reach of any airplane +before it settles into an orbit around earth." + +"Well, there goes my dreamed-of fortune," I said sadly. "Accompanied by +the fading strains of an unplayed wedding march. I'm sorry, Joyce." + +"Isn't there one thing you folks are overlooking?" asked Sandy Thomas. +"My goodness, you'd think we had lost our last cent just because that +little old bag flew away!" + +"For your information," I told her, "that is precisely what happened to +me. My entire bank account vanished into the wild blue yonder. And some +of Pat's money, too." + +"But have you forgotten," she insisted, "that we _won_ the race? Of +course the track officials were a wee bit suspicious when your suitcase +took off. But they couldn't prove anything. So they paid me the Gold +Stakes prize. If we split it four ways, we all make a nice little +profit. + +"Or," she added, "if you and Joyce want to make yours a double share, we +could split it three ways. + +"Or," she continued hopefully, "if Pat wants to, we could make _two_ +double shares, and split it fifty-fifty?" + +From the look in Pat's eyes I knew he was stunned by this possibility. +And from the look in hers, I felt she was going to make every effort to +take advantage of his bewilderment. + +So, as I said before, what this country needs is a good cigar-shaped +spaceship. There's a fortune waiting somewhere out in space for the man +who can go out there and claim it. Seventy thousand bucks in cold, hard +cash. + +Indubitatiously! + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ August 1957. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lighter Than You Think, by Nelson Bond + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIGHTER THAN YOU THINK *** + +***** This file should be named 29698.txt or 29698.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/6/9/29698/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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