Wait for Weight

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  Wait for Weight

  By JACK McKENTY

  _Sometimes the best incentive is to tell a man that success will throw him out of a job!_

  Illustrated by SIBLEY

  When Dr. Allport Brinton's alarm clock sounded, it brought madness. Itwas very clever; it not only rang chimes of amazing penetrating power,it turned on all the lights in the room, closed the window, and startedhis bath water running. But this morning it was not appreciated. Infact, as Dr. Brinton got out of bed, he silently called down evil onthe technician who had built it for him.

  The "off" switch was on the wall farthest away from his bed and wascontrolled by a hairtrigger combination dial that couldn't be operatedby anyone not fully awake. Dr. Brinton fumbled for a while, then gaveup and started looking for his bedroom slippers. They had apparentlycrawled away during the night.

  He padded into his bathroom barefoot. He was about to see what a hotbath would do for what he had already diagnosed as a histamine headachewhen the alarm clock, having decided that anyone who could sleepthrough ten minutes of chiming was unwakable, stopped chiming, turnedoff the lights, opened the window, and let all the water out.

  Dr. Brinton was walking back toward the light switch when he tripped onhis bedroom slippers and fell back into bed. No further invitation wasnecessary; he slept till noon.

  Dr. Brinton unmistakably had a hangover. Considering the party he hadattended the night before, it was not surprising. Actually, it wasremarkable that he had been able to get out of bed at all. During thefourteen years that the Rocket Research Station had been in operation,the parties that were held every time another test flight resulted infailure had grown from a few drinks in somebody's room to a mammothbust-up that left the whole place partially paralyzed for daysafterward.

  First as chief chemist, and later as director of the Station, Dr.Brinton had attended every one of the scores of parties during everyone of the fourteen years. It spoke well for his endurance to say thathe was back at his office at one o'clock. Some people didn't make ituntil the next day.

  * * * * *

  His secretary, who didn't drink, was one of very few who were at workon time. She walked into his office and stood in front of his desk,tapping her foot. Her facial expression showed that she thought peoplewho got drunk at parties were amoral, degenerate, and entirely unfitfor administrative positions. Dr. Brinton, who had been mentallycomparing the relative merits of Prussic acid and hanging as painrelievers, sat up straight to prove that he was moral, alert, and readyfor any problem that might come up. His secretary sniffed to indicatethat she didn't believe him. Dr. Brinton dropped his eyes to admit thatmaybe he wasn't at his best at the moment, but it was only a temporarycondition, and by tomorrow he would be okay.

  "In two minutes you'll wish you were dead," said his secretary. "Readthis."

  She handed him a letter. He read it and his knuckles cracked as hegripped the arms of his chair.

  "Senator MacNeill coming to visit _here_?" he cried in alarm. Thoughhis voice was squeaky, he was surprised to hear it at all. "Get me aline to Washington, our top priority, Audrey at the Naval Department."

  The call was put through.

  "Commander Audrey? This is Brinton at the Station. Joe MacNeill iscoming to visit us. Can you head him off?...

  "Yes, I know, but he's on one of his economy drives. We just did a testyesterday and if he inspects this place now, we won't get enough moneyto build a pinball machine. Delay him a week, anyway....

  "Well, try. I'll arrange a tour for him as best I can, but if hedoesn't come, I'll be much happier. Let me know as soon as possible.Fine. Good-by."

  He scribbled a memo and carried it out to his secretary. "Copy of thisto all department heads, right away. Phone the commissary and have themget all the decorations taken down in the dining room. Tell them to layin some steaks for tomorrow. Phone Harry Sparling in PublicRelations--alert him V.V.I.P. tomorrow, extra-special tour includingall our movies on the subject. I'm going over to the Fuels Department."

  Dr. Ferber, head of Fuels, met Dr. Brinton at the door of his lab.

  "I just got your memo," he said. "Is that budget-butcher really comingdown here?"

  Dr. Brinton nodded his head gently. "I'm afraid so. I came over to seewhat kind of show we can put on for him."

  "We have some samples to run on the indoor motors. There are a coupleof loads left for the acceleration sled. And I suppose if we work allnight we could get a sergeant-major ready, but if he's on an economydrive that might be too elaborate. Just a view of everybody pouringstuff from one test-tube to another might be best."

  "Do the samples and run the sled once," Dr. Brinton said. "That shouldprovide enough fire and noise. The rest of it will have to be fasttalk. I think I'll go home to bed."

  * * * * *

  Dr. Brinton considered himself a methodical man. He had bacon and eggsevery morning for breakfast. He always took a vitamin pill with hisafternoon coffee. And he was used to exactly eight hours sleep. It wasthis last habit that caused him to wake up that night at midnight; hehad gone to bed at four that afternoon and habit is a hard thing tobreak. At first he thought it was morning, but a glance at his watchhanging on its illuminated pedestal corrected that.

  He grunted, rolled over, and waited for sleep to overtake him again.Nothing happened. He turned and stared at the ceiling for a while.Still nothing; he had not felt so wide awake for a long time. Then hewas struck by one of the flashes of inspiration that had made himfamous--he would raid the refrigerator.

  * * * * *

  Downstairs, he found that his son Eric had anticipated him by twominutes, and was busy setting the table with cheese, pickles, icecream, peanut butter, and everything else necessary to keep asixteen-year-old boy operating at peak efficiency. A pile of books onthe table indicated that he had just finished his homework. Dr. Brintonwas pleased that his son had worked so late, but the choice of foodmade him shudder. He rummaged in the refrigerator himself, found a coldpork chop that Eric had somehow overlooked, and bore it to the table intriumph.

  "We were dealt a blow today," he said, between mouthfuls.

  "Oh?" said Eric, on guard in case it was about his school work.

  "Received word that Senator MacNeill is coming here tomorrow. No,today--it's after midnight."

  "Oh." It was an "oh" of relief. A senator couldn't be nearly astroublesome as a teacher.

  "Don't say 'oh' like that. He'll probably close the Station tight andwe'll all be out of work. You don't realize, it, but money has beengetting harder and harder to cadge for this place. We're practicallyrunning only the Fuels department now."

  He got up, threw the bone from his pork chop into a garbage pail,washed his hands at the sink, and sat down again.

  He continued, "Wait till he finds out about those four reactor rocketsthat are cooling off on the Moon, waiting for us to get there. I canhear him scream, 'Five million dollars each! Each full of preciousequipment, to say nothing of invaluable fissionable material!' And thenthis place gets shut down."

  Eric had a suggestion. "Give him the old routine about how we have toget men to the Moon or the Russians will do it first and use all theequipment we've sent there without even thanking us."

  "Umm," said his father, considering. He shook his head finally. "Hisanswer to that is why send good money after bad. No. I just hope hefeels better after a steak dinner. Either that or the wings fall offhis plane." He smiled wistfully at the thought. "Oh, well," he said,"let's go to bed."

  They went their separate ways, but only Eric went to bed. His fatherentered t
he library, sat down, got his pipe going, and began to reread_How to Win Friends and Influence People_.

  * * * * *

  The next day saw Dr. Brinton contemplate suicide, homicide, and votingRepublican, though not necessarily in that order. The Senator hadviewed their most inspiring onward-and-upward movies and merely askedhow much they cost to make. He had eaten a huge steak at thecommissary, and then inspected the garbage cans for waste. His visitsto various departments had been marred by his lack of interest inanything except the number of men employed by each and their averagesalaries, though he did comment that they all looked hung-over. In theFuels Department, he had walked out on the demonstrations, interruptingsome actual experiments that were going on outside the