Amazing Stories, August 1927 — page 83: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

_™ > es Se FF a" ing. “The ceiling, I believe, is doing its work. Now let us try the floor. I push this switch, and what happens?” Instantly there was a sound I did not like. You know I have a sort of an instinct for that kind of thing; I can sort of feel when something is wrong. Something seemed to work with an uncalled-for force, for there was a vibrating and gurgling I had not heard the last time. Instinctively I looked at the inventor, who had grown the color of pale cheese and was fumbling with a push button. “The wrong one,” I heard him groan. “The wrong one! O, why did I leave that experimental stuff here?” And then suddenly there was action. Straight in the air, out of a thousand holes, there shot as many streams of water, which rose six or seven feet high. In an instant everybody was drenched from head to foot. All those present were so dumfounded that for a few moments nobody moved. In fact, this upside downpour was so thick that one could hardly look through it. Just then the inventor gave a mighty wrench on the switchboard and the streams ceased. But there were three inches of water on the floor. “What in the hotel is the matter?” roared Irvine, who was the first to recover his senses. ‘What is the matter, Hicks? Are you trying to drown us?” “TI accidentally pushed the experimental switch, and it refused to kick off. It doesn’t matter. I'll. . .” stuttered Hicks. “What the devil do you mean, doesn’t matter?” bellowed Smith. ‘Don’t you see that you have completely ruined all our clothes? And it doesn’t matter! Now of all the...” “T didn’t mean it that way, Smith,” wailed Hicks. “T’l] turn on the warm air and we will all be dry in a minute.” With feverish hands he fingered the switchboard. We had all been recovering, and as we recovered and everybody looked at himself, drenched from head to foot, there was a feeling in the air as of a dozen thunderstorms brewing and ready to break. Something would have to happen to divert those people from dwelling on their troubles, I thought, and as I thought, it did. Hicks had found the but- ton, and there was a click. All at once, I heard a high whine, and instantly there was an explosive puff, and the air was white. Just before I closed my eyes, I saw why it was white. It was the fuller’s earth, a matter of twenty pounds or so, returning well distributed from the ceiling the same way it had come, with the same force, and every bit that had been put in. Instantly our wet clothes, for the most part dark-colored, as it was winter, from our hats down to our shoes, were as if covered with flour. The professor wiped his face and smeared a broad streak of it over his nose and mouth. It was so funny that I could not help laughing. He tried to glare at me, but was cut short by a fit of sneezing. Even in the act of laugh- ing, I was seized, and in a moment all the others. Everybody was sneezing his head off. “Hee, kachoo! He, kachoo! Hicks!” screamed Smith between spasms, “what, kachoo; in the hell, kachoo! are you doing; kachoo, kachoo! Turn the blooming, kachoo! thing off! I, kachoo! kachoo!” * Be choked Bid could Bot go on. eh deh Me Norn Siar as. Sat HICKS’ INVENTIONS WITH A KICK pete Eda by eget aah 497 “I am ha-ha-ha, kachoo! turning it off; I will turn it off, I have turned it off, kachoo! kachoo!” coughed the inventor as well as he could, between sneezes. ‘There will be no more of it, kachoo!” FTER a few minutes the dust settled and the babel of sneezes ceased. Then a flood of elo- quence broke loose. Everybody was telling Hicks what he thought of him. In his misery, the un- happy inventor turned and started to fool with his switchboard. “Lead the way out, Hicks, let us go and never see you again!” roared Irvine. “Dismiss us instantly, sir,” sternly ordered the professor, who had managed to regain as much of his dignity as was possible with a face like a miller and clothes that looked as if they had been through the flour mill. “The back way is the quickest way out,” said the inventor, eager to get rid of his company. He jumped ahead toward the back door, the others fol- lowing. But it was locked from the outside. “I have an electric lock on there,” he muttered, as his fingers sought another switchboard,—there were switchboards everywhere on the walls, and I had been wondering how he kept them apart. I was to learn later. The shoe shining machine trap door opened out into the room at the exact moment that the professor approached with dignified step. Just then he slipped on one of the wooden mats and fell, landing on his back, with his neck on the footrest of the shoe shining machine, I gasped. Instantly, the foot clamp swung over, lovingly taking hold of the professor’s throat and gently but determinedly holding down his head. Before our horrified gaze, the stiff revolving brushes appeared as if by magic and with a couple dozen swift and vigorous strokes prepared the professor’s ears for what was to come. As the stiff bristles did their work, his shriek of desperation could be heard a mile. The prim Miss Peak, forgetting her dignity, came screaming to her betrothed’s aid, but was unable to lift the clamp. I tried, but it was no use. The roughing brushes had by this time finished, and now appeared the polishing outfit. Immediately the professor’s entire face was covered with an even coat of black, which the brushes started to rub down to an op- tical polish. Even with the full realization of the situation, I could not refrain from admiring the thoroughness and fantastic speed with which those brushes worked. Judging things objectively is a habit with me, you know. In a few seconds the professor’s nose shone like a super-polished black knob, while other parts of his facial anatomy were taking on a wonderful shine. Ninety-five strokes a minute, the inventor had said. It seemed more like five hundred and ninety-five. By George, the high experimental speed must be turned on! That was it. I remembered. These were just some ideas that flashed through my mind—funny how the human mind will work in close situations. The professor’s struggles helped as little as his screams. “Push down your release switch, you idiot,” roared Irvine. I could have kicked myself. Why didn’t I at least think of that simple thing? But Hicks stood there, pale as cheese, except for the large smears of fuller’s earth on his face, fum- - Continued peOmme BeOKSIS Comey