I said: “It’s going to be a little tough to remember all of this—”
Pendaniels reached for the bag. “We’ll put on the Box, and you’ll remember.”
“No!” I yelled, putting both hands up. “I’m scared of the damn’ thing.” Then I told the story, and I included everything. Mr. Miller had no expression at all on his face. The Professor nibbled at his lower lip, and his pale eyes shifted restlessly.
At last I was through, and my voice was hoarse. Mr. Miller said: “Hmm! Interesting! In other words, the pure intelligence has no time for beauty, love, happiness — no time for any of the mad and miserable things of this world. The pure intelligence will only obey those rules forced upon it. The pure intelligence would be like a cold beast let loose in the world. Murder! An extreme selfishness that is the essence of self-preservation rather than a type of emotion.” He was silent for a few minutes. He turned to the Professor. “I’m afraid, Professor Pendaniels, that you must destroy this thing and make no more. You are playing with the end of civilization — the death of the race. Those foolish emotions of ours are the only plausible bases for action.”
Pendaniels snatched up the bag, tipping his chair over. He backed away from the table, holding the bag against his chest. “You cannot order me to do so! I refuse. I resign from your research organization. This item is the fruit of my career, the height of my research. No foolish old man can order me to throw away my life. Should you destroy this one, I will build another, and another. This is the hope of civilization, not the death of it.” He looked at us steadily, sneered and ran from the office.
Mr. Miller did the right thing. I told you that he’s a right guy. He rebought my house for eight thousand from the pub keeper, and then sold it on the open market, taking a twenty-five-hundred-dollar loss. I kept the bungalow, and at the present date Gerald seldom sees us. He is driving a truck, and he likes it. Marg got back from the hospital a few weeks ago, sans tumor, and she is her old self again. Mr. Miller himself explained to her about the Pendans Box. Jimmy got a terrific scare at court, and he has settled down a great deal. You see, some of the things the Box did for me were good.
Oh, about Professor Aldous Pendaniels. He dropped out of sight for quite a few months, and then he hit the headlines with that business up in Michigan. You see, the Box wasn’t capable of keeping the Professor out of all kinds of trouble.
He was wearing the Box when they brought him out of the woods. The newspapers didn’t mention the Box. And they didn’t say anything about his having the hatchet in his hand — nor about the fact that he was headed toward a lonesome house where an old guy lives who keeps his dough under a loose brick in the fireplace. Lots of dough!
You see, this young fellow saw the gleam of that coppery hair in the brush, and he let fly. The slug went right through the Professor’s head. He thought he was drawing a bead on a deer.
Oh, sure, it was labeled a tragic accident and all that, and up until now only Mr. Miller and I have known what it meant to the world when that shot was fired.
Of course, Mr. Miller contends that since the Professor was able to invent it, it’s only a question of time until some other goof discovers the theory and makes one.
Seen anybody with clamps behind their ears lately?
