Part 1

Horsesense Hank Does His Bit

By NELSON S. BOND

Pearl Harbor got Horsesense Hank mad. Something ought to be done about it--and he was the man who was going to do it!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories May 1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Like the rain-drenched angler said as he reeled in a fish, "Life is just one damp thing after another!" I thought I'd fixed everything all hunky-dory around the campus of dear old Midland U. when I finally got my friend "Horsesense Hank" Cleaver engaged to Helen MacDowell. Which just goes to prove that you shouldn't count your chickens until they're hitched. Because That Man stepped in and messed up everything.

You know the guy I mean. The chief germ in Germany. The little ex-housepainter with a scrap of old paintbrush on his upper lip. First he "protected" himself against the poor Austrians. Then the Czechs and the Poles. Then came Norway, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg--it sounds like a geography lesson, doesn't it?--then France, the Balkans, Greece and Crete. And finally, as his armies, having come a cropper against the outraged Russian bear, stalled on the icy steppes of Moscow's doorway, he invoked the aid of his yellow-skinned and -spined allies, the Japs.

While their envoys calmed Washington with soft words of peace, their air-arm bombed Pearl Harbor with grim weapons of war. It was then that Horsesense Hank came to me and said soberly, "Well, so long, Jim. I'll see you later."

I asked, "Where are you going? Down to Mike's for a hamburger? Wait a minute; I'll go with."

"I'm goin' further'n that, Jim," said Hank, "an' the chances are I'll be gone a mite longer. I--" He wriggled a bulldog-tipped shoe into the carpet embarrassedly--"I reckon I'm agonna sign up for the duration."

I gasped. "You mean the army?"

"Well, not eggsackly. I don't figger they'd want me in the fightin' forces, me bein' skinny like I am. But folks say I'm right quick with math'matics an' things like that, so if I c'n be of any help to my country--"

Hank was not exaggerating a bit. Almost everyone on the Midland campus, including sweet little me, had known more formal education than H. Cleaver. Eighty-five per cent of the faculty members dangled alphabets after their names till they looked like government projects, but Hank could give them all a running start and beat them silly on any question requiring the use of good, old-fashioned common sense.

A marveling commentator had awarded Hank the name of "Scientific Pioneer" for his uncanny ability to reach answers to problems intuitively, without knowing or understanding the so-called "natural laws" involved. Hank's aptitude at things mechanical, his infinitely accurate mathematical computations and homely approach to abstract ponderables, had promoted him from a rural turnip patch to the Chair of General Sciences at our (alleged) institute of higher learning.[1]

[Footnote 1: "_The Scientific Pioneer_," AMAZING STORIES, March, 1940.--Ed.]

"It ain't," scowled Hank, "as if I was a hard man to git along with. Gosh knows I'm easy-goin' enough--"

* * * * *

There was no gainsaying that. Hank was as quiet and gentle as a Carnation cow. The fact that he had, despite his humble background, won the favor and affections of bilious old H. Logan MacDowell, president of Midland, proved his power to Win Friends. And the fact that he, handicapped by a rawboned homeliness that would have discouraged any scarecrow, had won the heart and hand of Prexy's daughter Helen, a lass ardently pursued by every male in four counties, proved beyond a doubt his ability to influence people.

"--but they jest ain't no gittin' along," continued Hank, "with that there Hitler guy. The more he gits the more he wants. An' now that him an' his Japanee pals is forced _us_ into it, I'm agonna offer my services to whoever c'n use me."

"And where would that be, Hank?"

"Why, I was thinkin' o' one o' them plants that make war stuff," he said. "They got plenty o' problems, nowadays, tryin' to reorganize f'r defense work, changin' work methods, expandin' their facilities, an' so on. There's that Northern Bridge, Steel and Girder Comp'any, f'r instance--"

"But, Hank," I reminded him, "how about Helen?"

"I reckon Helen an' me'll jest have to wait a spell, Jim. Atter all, they's a job to be done. We got to pitch in an' do it, or they ain't gonna be no Helen or no Hank Cleaver, or mebbe even no U.S.A. f'r us to git married in."

So that was that. When Hank Cleaver gets those grim lines about the corners of his mouth, there's nothing you can do to stop him. I helped him pack his battered old suitcase, then we went to say goodbye to Helen. She reacted quite as I had expected. She listened in astonishment to Hank's awkward explanation. Then she expostulated loudly. Then she sniffled a little. Finally she wept for a minute, kissed Hank moistly and told him she was proud of him.

"Anyway," she said, "you'll come home every week-end to see me, won't you?" So Hank promised he would, and off we went. Yeah--that's right. We. I had decided to volunteer, too. That's me all over. Snoopy Jim Blakeson; can't keep my nose out of anything.

* * * * *

The Northern Bridge, Steel and Girder Co. was not so far from our town--only fifty miles--but it was like moving into a strange, new world to pass through the portals of that concern. Clatter and bang and hubbub ... men roaring orders ... staccato tattoo of rivets hammering home ... the keen, metallic smell of molten metal ... the bite of rasps and the _chuff-chuff_ of panting locomotives ... these were the symphonic diapason of our new headquarters.

About us, whistles blew, throngs of sweating workmen bustled about their fathomless tasks, racing to and fro in an endless stream. Beyond sturdy buildings black with age there ranged yellow rows of newer, flimsier structures.

The place had a strangely _jejeune_ look. The look of an adolescent who has outgrown his knee-britches, but has not yet the bulk and substance to fill his new long pants. Still this was a husky youngster. He would grow. He would grow to fill his new trousers. We both felt that.

We found the office of the company owner. Its doors were guarded by a bevy of underlings who protested hopelessly that, "Mr. MacDonald was too busy to see anyone." We brushed them aside and found ourselves, at last, before the irascible president of the NBS&G.

He stared at us in amazement. He was a huge, brawny Scotsman with eyebrows like feather-dusters and a jutting jaw that might have been poured from one of his ingots. After he got his breath:

"And who," he demanded thunderously, "micht _you_ be?"

"'Lo, Mr. MacDonald," said Hank amiably. "My name's Hank Cleaver."

"And who," roared the old man, "micht 'Hank Cleaver' be to coom abargin' into my office wi'oot inveetation? Speak oop, mon! Time is money!"

"'Pears to me," pointed out Hank reasonably, "as how if time's money, like you say, you'd stop wastin' time askin' foolish questions. It don't matter much _who_ I am. The p'int is: whut did I come for. Ain't it?"

Old MacDonald's fiery face turned two shades redder.

"Why, ye impairtenant yoong scoundrel--" he roared; then he paused. He said thoughtfully, "Ye're richt. So what _did_ ye coom for?"

"A job," said Hank.

"A jawb! Ye mean t' tell me ye fairced y'r way into _my_ office to osk f'r a jawb? The employment office lies doon the hall, yoong mon, twa doors t' y'r richt--"

Hank fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Well, that ain't eggsackly the kind o' job I had in mind, Mr. MacDonald. Whut I mean is--"

* * * * *

I decided to stick in my two cents. Bashful as Hank is, it would have taken him all day to explain. "Hank means, Mr. MacDonald, that he would like to offer his services in an executive capacity."

"Exec--!" This time MacDonald couldn't even finish the word. He pawed his graying thatch wildly. "Ye dinna say so? Ond would the title o' preseedent sotisfy him, ye think? Or mayhop he'd ruther be Chairmon o' the Board o' Deerectors? Who are _you_?"

"I'm Jim Blakeson. I was the publicity man for Midland University," I explained, "but now I'm at your disposal. Where Hank goes, I go. I don't believe you quite realize who Mr. Cleaver is, sir. He is 'Horsesense Hank'."

"And I'm 'Horsesense Hector'!" snorted old MacDonald witheringly. "So what?" It was obvious that he was no newspaper reader, or he would have known Hank's reputation.

"Mr. Cleaver," I told him severely, "is a teacher of General Sciences at our school. He is well versed in a score of subjects germane to your business. Mathematics, civil and chemical engineering ballistics--"

"Motheematics," bellowed MacDonald, "be domned! The NBS&G needs no figgerer! I've gawt one o' the cleverest ones in the coontry wairkin' f'r me. My future son-in-law, Jawnny Day! _Jawnny!_" He strode to a doorway, flung it open, bawled his command. In the doorway appeared a nice looking kid with fine lips and eyes. "Jawnny, this mon claims to be a--"

But young Day had stepped forward eagerly, extending a hand to Hank.

"Mr. Cleaver! This is an unexpected pleasure!"

MacDonald's jaw played tag with his weskit buttons.

"Ye--ye know him, Jawnny?"

"Know him! Why, every mathematician in this country knows and envies the logic of Horsesense Hank. Are you going to work here with us, Mr. Cleaver?"

"Well," squirmed Hank embarrassedly, "that's f'r Mr. MacDonald to say. Seems sorta like he don't want me."

But MacDonald, the ozone spilled from his Genoa jib, now backed water like a duck in a whirlpool.

"Bide a wee!" he puffed hastily. "Dinna be in sooch a roosh, yoong mon. If Jawnny recommends ye, there's a place in this organeezation f'r ye. Ond f'r y'r friend, too. Now, let's talk ways and means--"

* * * * *

Thus it was that Hank Cleaver and I became employees of the Northern Bridge, Steel and Girder Company. The job to which Hank was finally assigned was that of Estimator. I was given a desk in the Advertising Department offices, though to tell the truth I was no great shakes as a ballyhoo artist for structural steel girders and forged braces, having previously boosted the merits of nothing more substantial than a 200-lb. line and a 175-lb. backfield.

But we got along all right. Until one day, after we had been working there for a couple of weeks, the boss called Hank into his private office. I tagged along. Old Mac had a visitor. A slim, prim man with a ramrod up his spinal column and _pince-nez_ on a beak that would dull a razor.

"Cleaver," said Hector MacDonald, "I want you should meet Mr. Grimper. Mr. Grimper, shake honds wi' Hank Cleaver, my Chief Estimator." The Old Man, I saw was happy as a lark about something; happy and excited, too. "Mr. Grimper," said he, "is a Government mon, Hank. From the R.O.T.C.--"

"O.P.M.," corrected Grimper sourly. "At the moment, I also unofficially represent the O.E.M., the O.P.A., and the S.P.A.B.--"

"No motter," chuckled MacDonald joyfully. "'Tis all the same alphabet. Hank, laddy, we've been drofted! F'r the duration o' the war the auld mon in the top hat is takin' our plont over f'r defense wairk. From now on we're not buildin' bridges and girrders; we're rollin' armament plate and makin' shells to bomb to the de'il-and-gane yon bloody scoundrel wi' the foony moostache! What d'ye think o' _that_?"

Hank said soberly, "Why--why, that's wonderful!"

"The United States Government," said Grimper tautly, "will assume all expenses necessary for the expansion of your facilities. When the war is over the plant, with all its improvements, will be turned back to you. Meanwhile, a reasonable profit will be allowed you on all defense materials produced."

"Gosh," gulped Hank enthusiastically, "that's swell! We won't let you down, Mr. Grimper. If you'll give me a sort of idea what kind of additional facilities you need, I'll git right to work on it. We mustn't waste no time--"

* * * * *

Grimper coughed peremptorily.

"Er--that's just the point I was about to bring up, Mr. Cleaver. We must waste neither time nor money. This war effort is far too important to be disturbed by--ahem--other factors. That is why I asked Mr. MacDonald to call you. You see, our organization has its _own_ Estimate staff, composed of men trained to do precisely the type of work that will be required here. Consequently, under the new set-up, you will be an unnecessary cog in an already perfect machine. I--er--I trust you understand, Mr. Cleaver?"

Hank stared at him, stricken.

"You--you mean you won't _want_ me here any more?"

"To be more accurate," replied the government agent, "we won't _need_ you. That is, in your present capacity. However, I have no doubt that a man like yourself, familiar with all angles of the steel industry, will find a niche--"

"But--but I ain't!" moaned Hank. "I wasn't in this business till a couple of weeks ago!"

"What?" Grimper stared at him, then at the owner of the company. "I don't understand, Mr. MacDonald. Isn't this man your Chief Estimator? He must have had _some_ experience."

"Hank," confessed the Old Man, "was a puffessor."

"A--a what?"

"Teacher," said Hank miserably. "I taught stuff and things at Midland U. Algebra, a little, an' general science, an' a smatterin' o' this an' that."

"You mean that with such a background--"

"I know whut y'r thinkin'," interposed old MacDonald hastily, "and 'tisna so. Mr. Cleaver airned his job the hard way. The fairst day he set foot in here I ordered him oot--but he's made me swallow my wairds. Now I consider his sairvices invaleeable."

"Still," frowned Grimper, "Mr. Cleaver's talents are not sufficiently remarkable to justify his presence on such a project as that which we are about to embark on. We have our own engineers and mathematicians in Washington. Why, _I_ am an efficiency expert, myself, trained to handle emergencies--"

At that moment the office door inched open. The Old Man glanced up worriedly. "Aye, Miss Cole? What is it?"

"Three of the shop foremen, sir. They say they must see you immediately."

"Ye'll excuse me, Mr. Grimper? Verra well. Let 'em in, Miss Cole." Then, as three grim and grimy men shouldered angrily into the room: "Well, what's the motter? Don't stond there glarin' at each ither! Time is money; speak oop!"

Gorman, foreman of the Maintenance Department, spoke for the trio.

"Well, it's the new tools we ordered, Mr. MacDonald. The shipment just arrived--"

"Then what're ye blatherin' aboot? Ye've been howlin' blue murrder f'r weeks because they were delayed. Divide 'em oop and get to wairk!"

"That's just it," fumed Hendricks of Testing. "They couldn't send us our complete order, Mr. Mac. They sent only seventeen sets. And we can't divide 'em up. They don't come out even."

"Even?" repeated Grimper superciliously.

* * * * *

Mulvaney, the Construction foreman, complained, "I'm supposed to get one half of all materials ordered, sir, but I can't take a half of seventeen. Gorman's supposed to get one third, and Henny's supposed to get one ninth. Our problem is how are we going to divide them?"

Grimper said, "Er--aren't you gentlemen making much ado about nothing? The answer seems to be very simple. Just open the crates and distribute the tools in their proper proportions."

And he beamed at Old Mac triumphantly. But his grin was short-lived. Gorman's sniff was one of pure disdain.

"Didn't you hear Henny say them tools come in _sets_?" he snorted. "I'd look pretty, wouldn't I, Mister, screwin' a loose nut with one third of a screwdriver? And Henny'd go to town measurin' rivet-precision with one ninth of a caliper!"

Old MacDonald guffawed loudly.

"I'm afeared he's gawt ye there, Grimper. Hank, ha' ye any idee whut to do?"

Cleaver had been scratching his cranium; now he said thoughtfully, "We-e-ell, mebbe I have, Mr. Mac. Joe, c'n you borry another set o' them tools from Supplies?"

Gorman said swiftly, "I can, but I won't. I want my full share of the order, Hank. I don't want no debit against my department in Supplies--"

"There won't be. But let's suppose, f'r the moment, you _have_ borryed a set. Now how many sets would you have?"

"Why--why, eighteen, of course."

"Sure. Now, Mike, you git half o' them sets. Nine, right? An' Joe, you git one third, or six; satisfied? Bill, your department gits one ninth o' the order--or two complete sets. Okay? Well, boys, there you are. Evabuddy happy?"

"Everybody but _me_!" stormed Joe Gorman. "I've got a set of tools charged against me in Supplies! That idea's all right for these lugs, maybe, but I got my rights! I--"

"Now, take it easy," soothed Hank. "Two an' six an' nine is oney _seventeen_, Joe. They's still one set left over. So now you can return that one to Supplies!"

"Well, I'll be damned!" said Mulvaney.

* * * * *

And on that note of sincere (if profane) admiration, the department heads disappeared to divvy up the disputatious shipment. With an air of "I told you so!" Old Mac turned to a rather acid-looking Grimper.

"Y' see, Mr. Grimper? Indeespenseeable, that's whut he is! Ye maun do weel f'r to reconsider this motter--"

But there was a streak of mule six feet tall and two feet wide in the Federal man. He sniffed down his long, thin nostrils and studied Hank through his _pince-nez_ with detached interest.

"Hrrumph!" he hrrumphed. "Very interesting, but not at all new, you know. Hardly mathematics at all, in fact. A numerical paradox based on an old Arabian legend, if I am not mistaken--"

I did what Flatbushers would call a "slow berl." In other words, I was boined up. But while I was still striving for words, young Johnny Day, who had entered from his office, came charging to Hank's defense.

"Maybe it's not mathematics," he raged, "in the pure sense. But it's something more valuable--common sense! Any man who can pop up with a quick answer to a problem like that is a handy guy to have around. _You_ are an efficiency expert, Mr. Grimper, but _you_ had no solution to offer--"

Grimper's lean jaw tightened. His eyes grew as cold as a ditchdigger's ears in Siberia. Whatever slow beginnings of humanity might have been wakening in his bosom died now.

"I am sorry, gentleman," he said in a tone of finality which meant he wasn't at all, "but I am not convinced. I presume, Mr. MacDonald, you _do_ want this Government order?"

"Notcherally," grudged Old Mac.

"Then--" Primly--"you must accept my decisions on questions of policy. Mr. Cleaver, you are hereby granted two weeks in which to clear up your affairs around this plant, at the end of which time your services will no longer be needed. I trust you will find suitable employment elsewhere...."

And he smiled, a mean, oily little smile. The heel!

So that, lads and lassies, was that. Hank was o-u-t on called strikes, but if you think he just quit trying to do his share because a fortnight's deadline was hanging over his head, you don't know old turnip-torturer Cleaver.

* * * * *

The Northern Bridge, Steel and Etcetera still needed estimating, so Hank labored straight on through till the last day, lending his individual--if unwanted--talents. Thus it was that on the Saturday afternoon he drew his final paycheck he had still not cleared out his desk drawers and lockers for the next incumbent.

He told me so at dinner. I asked, "Well, what's the program, Hankus? After we feed we grab a choo-choo?"

But he just stared at me. "_We_, Jim? But you wasn't laid off."

"Birds of a feather," I told him, "flop together. I go where you go."

He shook his head.

"Oh, no, Jim. Thanks a lot, but--you got to stick. This ain't no time f'r individjuls to fuss an' argue. We got a war to win, an' wherever a man's needed he's got to stay."

"But how about you, Hank?"

"I'll find somethin' else to do. When we're through eatin' I got to go back to the plant an' pick up whut belongs to me, then I'll mosey along."

I sighed.

"Well, all right, chum. If that's the way it is--"

That, he assured me, was the way it was. So we went back to the plant about 8:30 p.m. And that's where the final insult was added to injury. For after we had passed the gate a slim, forbidding figure stepped from the shadows to halt us with a challenge.

"Just a moment! Who goes there?"

I started, then I grinned impudently. It was friend Grimper, in person, and not an effigy. I said, "Just a brace of Nazi spies, pal. Don't shoot till you see the yellow down our backs."

The government man edged forward austerely.

"And what are you two doing back this time of night? Blakeson, you have no right to be here after six o'clock, and your friend has no right here at _any_ hour!"

I said, "Why, you two-for-a-nickel imitation of a G-man--"

But Hank, unruffled as ever, said calmly, "Easy does it, Jim. Why, Mr. Grimper, I jest come back to gather up the stuff in my locker an' desk. It won't take me long."

Grimper said sourly, "We-e-ell, all right. But I'll have to go along with you. We can't afford to give strangers the run of the mill nowadays. Constant vigilance is our only defense against saboteurs and espionage agents, and there are valuable military stores within these gates."

"Strangers!" I spat disgustedly. "You've got a hell of a nerve, Grimper. Hank Cleaver volunteered his talents to this concern before you ever knew it existed--"

"Services," said Grimper coldly, "which ended today. And I should not be surprised, Mr. Blakeson, if yours were to be terminated soon. Well, come along."

* * * * *

So we entered the plant. And of course it was black as a whale's belly in there, but do you think Dopey Joe would let us turn on any lights? Oh, no! He had ideas about _that_, too. He was fuller of ideas than a Thanksgiving turkey is of chestnuts. He commanded, "You will use a flashlight, please. One never knows what prying eyes may be upon us."

"There are a couple of eyes," I glared, "I'd like to pry--with doubled pinkies. Hurry up, Hank. Get your things and let's scram out of here. There's a bad odor around here, and it's not oil fumes."

Hank emptied his desk drawers, and we picked our way down darkened corridors, through the machine-shop and turning room, toward the lockers. We had but one more room to cross: the drafting-room, wherein were stored all the blueprints and testing-models. We were halfway across this, our tiny flashlight beam a dim beacon before our stumbling feet, when--

Out of the gloom, suddenly, terrifyingly, a voice!

"_Halten Sie sich!_ Not a move! Otto--get them!"

* * * * *