Exit the Professor Read online

  The Perfesser had been writing in his little notebook. He looked up and saw me.

  “What are you doing?" he wanted to know.

  "This don't look right to me," I said. "I think you monkeyed with them batteries. Try it now."

  "In here?" he said, startled. "I don't want to pay a bill for damages. It must be tested under safety conditions."

  "See the weathercock out there, on the roof?" I pointed it out to him. “Won't do no harm to aim at that. You can just stand here by the winder and try it out."

  "It-it isn't dangerous?" He was aching to try the gadget, I could tell. I said it wouldn't kill nobody, and he took a long breath and went to the window and cuddled the stock of the gun against his cheek.

  I stayed back aways. I didn't want the Sheriff to see me. I'd already spotted him, sitting on a bench outside the feed-and-grain store across the street.

  It happened just like I thought. Galbraith pulled the trigger, aiming at the weathercock on the roof, and rings of light started coming out of the muzzle. There was a fearful noise. Galbraith fell flat on his back, and the commotion was something surprising. People began screaming all over town.

  I kinda felt it might be handy if I went invisible for a while. So I did.

  Gaibraith was examining the shotgun gadget when Sheriff Abernathy busted in. The Sheriff's a hard case. He had his pistol out and handcuffs ready, and he was cussing the Perfesser immediate and rapid.

  "I seen you!" he yelled. "You city fellers think you can get away with anything down here. Well, you can't!"

  "Saunk!" Galbraith cried, looking around. But of course he couldn't see me.

  Then there was an argument. Sheriff Abernathy had seen Galbraith fire the shotgun gadget and he's no fool. He drug Galbraith down on the street, and I come along, walking soft. People were running around like crazy. Most of them had their hands clapped to their faces.

  The Perfesser kept wailing that he didn't understand.

  "I seen you!" Abernathy said. "You aimed that dingus of yours out the window and the next thing everybody in town's got a toothache! Try and tell me you don't understand!"

  The Sheriff's smart. He's known us Hogbens long enough so he ain't surprised when funny things happen sometimes. Also, he knew Galbraith was a scientist feller. So there was a ruckus and people heard what was going on and the next thing they was trying to lynch Galbraith.

  But Abernathy got him away. I wandered around town for a while. The pastor was out looking at his church windows, which seemed to puzzle him. They was stained glass, and he couldn't figger out why they was hot. I coulda told him that. There's gold in stained-glass windows; they use it to get a certain kind of red.

  Finally I went down to the jailhouse. I was still invisible. So I eavesdropped on what Galbraith was saying to the Sheriff.

  "It was Saunk Hoghen," the Perfesser kept saying. "I tell you, he fixed that projector!"

  "I saw you," Abernathy said. "You done it. Ow!" He put up his hand to his jaw. "And you better stop it, fast! That crowd outside means business. Half the people in town have got toothaches."

  I guess half the people in town had gold fillings in their teeth.

  Then Galbraith said something that didn't surprise me too much.

  "I'm having a commission come down from New York, I meant to telephone the foundation tonight, they'll vouch for me."

  So he was intending to cross us up, all along. I kinda felt that had been in his mind.

  "You'll cure this toothache of mine--and everybody else's--or I'll open the doors and let in that lynch mob!" the Sheriff howled. Then he went away to put an icebag on his cheek.

  I snuck back aways, got visible again and made a lot of noise coming along the passage, so Galbraith could hear me. I waited till he got through cussing me out. I just looked stupid.

  "I guess I made a mistake," I said. "I can fix it, though."

  "You've done enough fixing!" He stopped. "Wait a minute. What did you say? You can cure this-what is it?"

  "I been looking at that shotgun gadget," I said. "I think I know what I did wrong. It's sorta tuned in on gold now, and all the gold in town's shooting out rays or heat or something."

  "Induced selective radioactivity," Galbraith muttered, which didn't seem to mean much. "Listen. That crowd outside--do they ever have lynchings in this town?"

  "Not more'n once or twice a year," I said. "And we already had two this year, so we filled our quota. Wish I could get you up to our place, though. We could hide you easy."

  "You'd better do something!" he said. "Or I'll get that commission down from New York. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

  I never seen such a man fer telling lies and keeping a straight face.

  "It's a cinch," I said. "I can rig up the gadget so it'll switch off the rays immediate. Only I don't want people to connect us Hogbens with what's going on. We like to live quiet. Look, s'pose I go back to your hotel and change over the gadget, and then all you have to do is get all the people with toothaches together and pull the trigger."

  "But-- well, but--"

  He was afraid of more trouble. I had to talk him into it. The crowd was yelling outside, so it wasn't too hard. Finally I went away, but I came back, invisible-like, and listened when Calbraith talked to the Sheriff.

  They fixed it all up. Everybody with toothaches was going to the Town Hall and set. Then Abernathy would bring the Perfesser over, with the shotgun gadget, and try it out.

  'Will it stop the toothaches?" the Sheriff wanted to know. "For sure?"

  "I'm--quite certain it will."

  Abernathy had caught that hesitation.

  "Then you better try it on me first. Just to make sure. I don't trust you."

  It seemed like nobody was trusting nobody.

  I hiked back to the hotel and made the switch-over in the shotgun gadget. And then I run into trouble. My invisibility was wearing thin. That's the worst part of being just a kid.

  After I'm a few hunnerd years older I can stay invisible all the time if I want to. But I ain't right mastered it yet. Thing was, I needed help now because there was something I had to do, and I couldn't do it with people watching.

  I went up on the roof and called Little Sam. After I'd tuned in on his haid, I had him put the call through to Paw and Uncle Les. After a while Uncle Les come flying down from the sky, riding mighty heavy on account of he was carrying Paw. Paw was cussing because a hawk had chased them.

  "Nobody seen us, though," Uncle Les said. "I think."

  "People got their own troubles in town today," I said. "I need some help. That Perfesser's gonna call down his commission and study us, no matter what he promises."

  "Ain't much we can do, then," Paw said. 'We cain't kill that feller. Grandpaw said not to."

  So I told 'em my idea. Paw being invisible, he could do it easy. Then we made a little place in the roof so we could see through it, and looked down into Gaibraith's room.

  We was just in time. The Sheriff was standing there, with his pistol out, just waiting, and the Perfesser, pale around the chops, was pointing the shotgun gadget at Abernathy. It went along without a hitch. Galbraith pulled the trigger, a purple ring of light popped out, and that was all. Except that the Sheriff opened his mouth and gulped.

  "You wasn't faking! My toothache's gone!"

  Gaibraith was sweating, but he put up a good front. "Sure it works," he said. "Naturally. I told you--"

  "C'mon down to the Town Hall. Everybody's waiting. You better cure us all, or it'll be just too bad for you."

  They went out. Paw snuck down after them, and Uncle Los picked me up and flew on their trail, keeping low to the roofs, where we wouldn't be spotted. After a while we was fixed outside one of the Town Hall's windows, watching.

  I ain't heard so much misery since the great plague of London. The hall was jam--full, and everybody had a toothache and was moaning and yelling. Abernathy come in with the Perfesser, who was carrying the shotgun gadget, and a scream went up.

  Ga
lbraith set the gadget on the stage, pointing down at the audience, while the Sheriff pulled out his pistol again and made a speech, telling everybody to shet up and they'd get rid of their toothaches.

  I couldn't see Paw, natcherally, but I knew he was up on the platform. Something funny was happening to the shotgun gadget. Nobody noticed, except me, and I was watching for it. Paw--invisible, of course was making a few changes. I'd told him how, but he knew what to do as well as I did. So pretty soon the shotgun was rigged the way we wanted it.

  What happened after that was shocking. Galbraith aimed the gadget and pulled the trigger, and rings of light jumped out, yaller this time. I'd told Paw to fix the range so nobody outside the Town Hall would be bothered. But inside-- Well, it sure fixed them toothaches. Nobody's gold filling can ache if he ain't got a gold filling.

  The gadget was fixed now so it worked on everything that wasn't growing. Paw had got the range just right. The seats was gone all of a sudden, and so was part of the chandelier. The audience, being bunched together, got it good. Pegleg Jaffe's glass eye was gone, too. Them that had false teeth lost 'em. Everybody sorta got a once-over-lightly haircut.

  Also, the whole audience lost their clothes. Shoes ain't growing things, and no more are pants or shirts or dresses. In a trice everybody in the hall was naked as needles. But, shucks, they'd got rid of their toothaches, hadn't they?

  We was back to home an hour later, all but Uncle Les, when the door busted open and in come Uncle Les, with the Perfesser staggering after him. Galbraith was a mess. He sank clown and wheezed, looking back at the door in a worried way.

  "Funny thing happened," Uncle Les said. "I was flying along outside town and there was the Perfesser running away from a big crowd of people, with sheets wrapped around 'em-some of 'em. So I picked him up. I brung him here, like he wanted." Uncle Les winked at me.

  "Ooooh!" Galbraith said. "Aaaahl Are they coming?"

  Maw went to the door.

  "They's a lot of torches moving up the mountain," she said. "It looks right bad."

  The Perfesser glared at me.

  "You said you could bide me! Well, you'd better! This is your fault!"

  "Shucks," I said.

  "You'll hide me or else!" Calbraith squalled. "I--I'll bring that commission down."

  "Look," I said, "if we hide you safe, will you promise to fergit all about that commission and leave us alone?"

  The Perfesser promised. "Hold on a minute," I said, and went up to the attic to see Grandpaw.

  He was awake.

  "How about it, Grandpaw?" I asked.

  He listened to Little Sam for a second.

  "The knave is lying," he told me pretty soon. "He means to bring his commission of stinkards here anyway, recking naught of his promise."

  "Should we hide him, then?"

  "Aye," Grandpaw said. "The Hogbens have given their word--there must be no more killing. And to hide a fugitive from his pursuers would not be an ill deed, surely."

  Maybe he winked. It's hard to tell with Grandpaw. So I went down the ladder. Galbraith was at the door, watching the torches come up the mountain.

  He grabbed me.

  "Saunk! If you don't hide me--"

  "We'll hide you," I said. "C'mon."

  So we took him down to the cellar.

  When the mob got here, with Sheriff Abernathy in the lead, we played dumb. We let 'em search the house. Little Sam and Grandpaw turned invisible for a bit, so nobody noticed them. And naturally the crowd couldn't find hide nor hair of Galbraith. We'd hid him good, like we promised.

  That was a few years ago. The Perfesser's thriving. He ain't studying us, though. Sometimes we take out the bottle we keep him in and study him.

  Dang small bottle, too!

  About the Author

  Henry Kuttner (1915-1958) was an American author who was known for his literary prose and worked in close collaboration with his wife, C. L. Moore. Their work together spanned the 1940s and 1950s and most of the work was credited to pseudonyms, mainly Lewis Padgett and Lawrence O'Donnell. It has been stated that their collaboration was so intensive that, after a story was completed, it was often impossible for either Kuttner or Moore to recall who had written which portions. Among Kuttner's most popular work were the Gallegher stories, published under the Padgett name, about a man who invented hi-tech solutions to client problems (including an insufferably egomaniacal robot) when he was stinking drunk, only to be completely unable to remember exactly what he had built or why after sobering up.

  In 2007, New Line Cinema released a feature film loosely based on the Lewis Padgett short story "Mimsy Were the Borogoves" under the title The Last Mimzy.

  Catherine Lucille Moore (January 24, 1911 – April 4, 1987) was an American science fiction and fantasy writer, as C. L. Moore. She was one of the first women to write in the genre, and paved the way for many other female writers in speculative fiction. Moore met Henry Kuttner, also a science fiction writer, in 1936 when he wrote her a fan letter (mistakenly thinking that "C. L. Moore" was a man), and they married in 1940. Afterwards, almost all of their stories were written in collaboration under various pseudonyms, most commonly “Lewis Padgett”. (Another pseudonym, one Moore often employed for works that involved little or no collaboration, was "Lawrence O’Donnell". After Kuttner's death in 1958, Moore wrote almost no fiction and taught his writing course at the University of Southern California. She did write for a few television shows under her married name, but upon marrying Thomas Reggie (who was not a writer) in 1963, she ceased writing entirely. C. L. Moore died on April 4, 1987 at her home in Hollywood, California after a long battle with Alzheimer's disease. C.L. Moores pseudonyms included: Lawrence O'Donnell , C. H. Liddell , Lewis Padgett , Catherine L. Moore

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