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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: 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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