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+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: 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 ***
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