Part 2
“Quiet as a ‘chink’ funeral now--just over flurry,” his broker answered. “Two weeks ago rumor broadcast President sore about inefficiency of old Jim Macdonald--chief ‘National Law-enforcement Bureau’--and ‘National Bootlegger Consolidated’ dropped ten points. Two days later Jim resigned, and N.B.C. lost twenty points. Next day President appointed Wheeler Wayne (who has never taken a drink in his life, where anybody could catch him at it), and ‘N.B.C.’ hit the skids for fifty points. Wayne’s first move was to order your local bootlegger, Lippincott, raided and jailed, and the bottom fell clear out of ‘N.B.C.’ For nearly a whole day the Pit was stormed by a mob of the fainthearted in a panic, begging anybody and everybody to take their ‘Bootlegger’ stock off their hands for anything they would give. I had inside tip that officers only found one quart in Lippincott’s possession, so I did the charitable act (in your name) by relieving them of ten millions. Would have plunged deeper but afraid of complicating other deals. Two days later old Jim Macdonald and Bill Jenkins (head National Bootlegger Trust) settled squabble about Jim’s demand for more dough; and the ‘evidence’ against Lippincott’ was ‘lost,’ he was turned loose, and ‘N.B.C.’ floated back to normal. With care can unload and clean up about two millions, or can hang on--just as you say.”
Turning to one side Algernon slipped a sheet of paper into, and switched the connection into what looked like a complicated development of the original typewriter; and then replied to his broker.
“You did fine, Charlie,” he said. “Don’t forget that you double your regular percentage when I am ‘off the reservation’.” Then, after a momentary hesitation to consider, he continued: “Tell bookkeeper to read statement into private radiophone at once, as I already have ‘Radioelectrodictaphonotypograph’ connected. Unload ‘Bootlegger’ stock as soon as you can without sacrificing profits that you are sure of, as I don’t want my name publicly mixed in the business. And now listen, Charlie! I’m going away for a bit--probably for only a day or so, if nothing unforeseen happens. If you want me, call on regular ‘E.V.R.,’ but use ‘long distance.’ If you think it best to look for me, come over here and use my ‘Electro-visional.’ Will probably be in neighborhood of Mt. McKinley in 3670-mile circuit and ‘W.N.W.’ sector. Good-bye!”
* * * * *
As Algernon ceased speaking, the silvery “ting” of a little bell on his “Radio Electro-photographing” camera notified him of the receipt of the photographed copies of his government permit and the correlating orders issued; while the discontinuance of the rapid “tick-tick” of his “Radioelectrodictaphonotypograph” told him that his broker’s bookkeeper had completed his statement. From the former he extracted two slips of paper, and found them correct. But he studied the sheet of paper that he took from the latter for a moment, in a perplexed confusion at the phonetic simplicity of the spelling of the words. Then, reflecting that this mathematically-exact translation of oral sound would eventually assist in the elimination of the orthographic absurdities which always had burdened a language that is too complex at its best, he shoved this into an inside pocket along with the other two; and, pressing a button in the side-wall which opened a small door leading into a “one-person” sized compartment in a perpendicular pneumatic tube, he stepped within, and was shot to the roof.
Going to the largest of the hangars that dotted the roof, he pushed a button--and the door flew open, and a glistening “Electro re-tempered” copper monstrosity trundled out on a truck. The best that could be said for its shape was that it looked like a gigantic beer bottle. Stepping to the mouth of the “bottle,” he pressed a button, and the stopper flew out with a loud report. Entering the narrow passage-way through the “neck,” he switched on the electric lights and found himself in a spacious, tempered-glass compartment “blown-into” the framework in such a way as to practically surround itself with a vacuum space, and with the few necessary contacts elaborately insulated. A yank at a lever started an “Oxygen Supply” apparatus (already set at “One Person”) going, and a touched button caused the “stopper” to fly back into place with another loud report.
From a mahogany wardrobe he took a bear-skin fur suit which was lined with finely-woven copper-wire cloth. Stepping into this, he set the “Interior Heat Regulator” at 65° Fahrenheit, adjusted the connection with the concealed storage battery, and pushed the spring which caused the suit to “snap-to” and fasten.
A shifted lever on a large keyboard set the “Interior Temperature Regulator” of the compartment going at a “65°” adjustment, another started the “Electro-visional,” a third connected a small dynamo with the “Atomic-energy Reservoir” and started it supplying the comparatively trifling electrical needs, a fourth completed a similar direct connection with the rest of the mechanism and a fifth released an electron of atomic-energy from the basic atom into the “Atomic-energy Reservoir” to maintain the parity of the supply.
Seating himself in an upholstered chair, he prepared for quick and decisive action. With one hand he pulled down the “Helicopter” lever, and, through the “Electro-visional,” saw a huge, “Electro re-tempered” steel solid corkscrew-like device with a “screw” fifty feet deep in the groove, shoot into the air. Setting its regulator at “Half-speed,” he touched a button and began to ascend slowly. When the “Altitude Indicator” registered “1000 Feet,” he turned “full speed” into the helicopter device and finished with a rush. At “20,000 Feet” he shut the helicopter down to “Maintenance of Altitude” speed, pulled a lever which released a huge propeller from its underneath pocket, and set it going at full speed “In Reverse,” yanked the lever back at “21,500 Feet,” and came to a full stop at “22,000 Feet” with the underneath propeller roaring noisily but harmlessly in its enclosed pocket.
Turning to the “Electro-visional” dial, he threw the clutch into the “3670 Mile” circuit, picked out the faint outline of the higher peak of Mt. McKinley, and stuck a needle-point into it. This he connected, by means of a delicate copper wire, with “Local”--which he knew was permanently connected in a similar manner with the gigantic dynamo at Niagara Falls--set the regulator of his “Electric-flash” at “.017 Seconds,” pushed a button which shut off the helicopter, yanked back the lever which collapsed it into its overhead pocket; and, as he heard the heavy copper plates bang shut over all, he closed his eyes and touched the final button.
Then, in spite of all precautions, he was nearly blinded by the vivid lightning that enveloped the entire machine; and, notwithstanding the intricate system of “Shock Absorbers,” he thought for a moment that he had been yanked in two as he was shot through space at the rate of 186,000 miles per second. And then, as if it was a reflex of the original yank, came the answering “tug” of the rear propeller as it automatically shot out of its pocket going full speed “In Reverse.”
Opening his eyes with nerves taut for the crucial moment, he reached for the “Plane-wing” lever with one hand, and glanced at the “Speedometer” for the indication of the moment when it would be safe, and necessary, that he throw-out his biplane-wings of “Electro re-tempered” steel with a “spread” of one hundred and fifty feet.
Then, suddenly, the dual peaks of Mt. McKinley appeared directly in front of his “Electro-visional”; and, throwing caution to the winds, he yanked down the “Plane-wing” lever, and heard the rattle and bang of the adjustments, and saw that the apparatus was withstanding a severer test than it was guaranteed for.
And then, even as he looked, the higher peak of the mountain appeared directly underneath; and, with instinctive recklessness, he gave the “Steering-lever” a yank which turned the machine “on its tail” at a sharp right-angle--missing a spill by a fraction of a hair--jerked another lever which tipped it into a practically-perpendicular “nosedive,” snapped that lever back again and righted himself, shoved down the helicopter lever and touched the button which shot that corkscrew-like device aloft going at “Maintenance-of-Altitude” speed, yanked back the lever of the rear propeller which brought that instrument rattling back into its pocket where it roared in a harmless fury--and, with a jolt, came to a full stop; while beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead at his narrow escape, though a triumphant smile played about his lips as he thought of the sensation he would create in the next “Aerial Olympic,” and his brain registered the mental note for future reference that it was his rear propeller going full speed “in reverse,” that had held him and saved a spill on that acute, right-angle turn.
* * * * *
A glance at his “Electro-visional” showed that he was parallel with, and but a few feet away from, the top of the cliff above Parker Pass; and the first thing he saw was Esmeralda’s biplane with its nose buried in a cake of ice. But its “Spark-screen Broadcaster” was humming merrily, and its rear “spot-light” revealed the details below, behind the “screen,” in vivid detail.
Directly below the wrecked biplane, he quickly discovered his beloved Esmeralda standing waist-deep in the snow, with one arm raised as if to repel an expected attack, and still clad in the “picture-frame” costume which had caused their row. A glimpse at his “Exterior Temperature” indicator which registered “60° below zero,” caused a fleeting fear of dire results from her bare-skinned exposure; but a reflection on the proven ability of the “female of the species” for facing wintry blasts in scanty attire, quickly chased his fears away, and he turned his attention to the direction indicated by her upraised, protesting arm.
And then--TO AN ABSOLUTE CERTAINTY, HE DISCOVERED THE FIGURE OF A MONSTROUS ROYAL BENGAL TIGER ON THE LEDGE ABOVE HER, WHICH WAS POISED IN THE ATTITUDE FOR ITS FINAL, FATAL SPRING UPON ITS PREY!
With frantic energy he “yanked-down” the “Landing” lever of the helicopter, grabbed the parachute, pushed the button which “unstoppered” the “bottle,” and jumped--making the descent in “record” time, but landing so violently that he was buried in the snow, because, in his panic, he forgot to pull the string of his parachute until he was two-thirds down.
A momentary fear of being smothered in the snow, was followed by a spasm of skilled “football” tactics in “bucking” and squirming his way out; and, floundering frantically towards his beloved, he yelled at the top of his voice:
“Esmeralda! My darling! I am here!”
With the stately grace of a real “blue-blooded” aristocrat, the royal maiden turned majestically, and froze the heart within him with a frigid glare--such as only those with four centuries of unmixed “Mayflower” blood in their veins, can hope to aspire to.
“Your presence is sufficiently perceptible,” she said in measured tones, “to preclude any necessity for such boisterous conduct. In the future, when we are abroad together, it will please me greatly if you bring your manners along with you, instead of leaving them at home. Also, I would remind you that you have been fifteen whole minutes in answering my ‘call’.”
And then Nature claimed its own, and, womanlike, Esmeralda fell fainting into her lover’s arms, murmuring as she lost consciousness: “Algy! My darling! My savior!”
For a brief moment Algernon pressed the inanimate form of his sweetheart to his manly breast, and showered a storm of passionate kisses upon a wisp of her hair as it floated in the breeze against his nose--and then he bethought him of that poised tiger on the ledge above!
Quickly he pulled his “Electric Automatic,” aimed carefully at the beast’s heart, and pressed the button. A black spot showed on the spot he had aimed at, and the air became filled with the pungent odor of burned hair--but the brute above remained in an apparently statuesque unconsciousness of the assault!
Nonplussed and dumfounded, Algernon pulled out his collapsible opera glasses, adjusted them, and studied the perplexing phenomenon closely. Then at last a ray of light penetrated his brain as the memory of a forgotten incident recurred to him, and he mentally connected this incident with the enigma above. Realizing the simple truth at last, he burst into uproarious laughter and yelled at the top of his voice in unrestrained glee--until the dormant echoes of the “Great Silent North” awakened from their age-old slumbers, and an avalanche of snow was loosened from its mooring on the opposite mountain-side.
Algernon had remembered that, some six months before, a Royal Bengal tiger had escaped from “Barnum and Bailey’s” circus, while it was showing at Des Moines, Iowa; and that the efforts to recapture it, had only resulted in driving it into the northern wilderness. This, then, was that tiger! Happening in the neighborhood and naturally in a famished condition, a scent of Esmeralda had reached it and had aroused its savage instincts. But, as it stole out onto the ledge for the final, fatal spring, being unused to northern temperatures, the 60° below zero gale had frozen it dead in its tracks!
And then, just as all his troubles and worries seemed to have vanished, the “whir” of an airplane engine turned his eyes upwards; and, directly overhead, he saw a “Purity League” biplane circling for a landing.
With frantic energy he shook the unconscious form that reposed in his arms, and shouted into her ear at the top of his voice:
“Esmeralda! Darling! Wakeup! That ‘Purity League’ sleuth has found us! He is sure to be one of those ‘ex-convict’ crooks working on a percentage for what he can get, and, if he catches you out here in public in that costume, he will rush you into one of his ‘kangaroo’ courts, and ‘railroad’ you into jail! Wake up! Es----”
* * * * *
The sharp angle of Mary Jane’s bony knee-cap, adeptly from practice and forcibly by instinct, projected into my left-hand lower short-ribs, finally aroused me; and, as if it were an echo of my dream, I distinctly heard the dulcet tones of her gentle voice in my ear, shouting:
“Wake up you, John Henry! You’re snoring like a horse! Haven’t I told you times enough never to sleep on your back? Turn over on your right side! And you’ve been talking something awful in your sleep, too! Who’s this ‘darling Esmeralda,’ anyway? If I catch her monkeying with you, I’ll scratch her eyes out! None of your lies, now! There wasn’t any ‘Esmeralda’ in that picture-play we saw tonight, so you better not try to spring anything of that sort on me! Why don’t you----”
But, peeved by my rude awakening, and not feeling well anyway, I stopped the verbal torrent by breaking in.
“If you can’t be satisfied with nagging at me about nothing all day, but you must go waking me up in the middle of the night to keep it up, I’ll move into the spare room, and let you sleep by yourself,” I threatened. “Besides,” I added, “you’ve got me crowded clear off onto the bedrail, and nobody could sleep like that, anyway.”
Mary Jane, my wife, was contrite and very humble at once, which shows that I know how to manage her properly when I really want to.
“I didn’t wake you up to nag at you, John,” she said penitently, as she snuggled up to me and reached out her hand to caress me. “But that stuff of yours down in the cellar has been popping-off to beat the band for an hour, and I just know that you’ll lose the whole batch if you don’t tend to it right away. I told you that you were bottling it too soon, but it never does any good for me to say anything. You’ll just----”
“Well, if it’s going to ‘pop,’ it’s going to and that’s all there is to it,” I broke in petulantly. “If you think you know so much more about it than I do, you can just make the next batch yourself and see if you can do any better. Now move over and give me enough of the bed to lie comfortably in, and give me a chance to get a little sleep.”
And, as my “better-half” squirmed back to her own side of the bed, I turned over upon my right side and slept fairly well for the rest of the night.
The End.
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the August 1927 issue of _Amazing Stories_ magazine.]