Wait for Weight
By JACK McKENTY
Sometimes the best incentive is to tell a man that successwill 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[Pg 72] 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[Pg 73] visit here?" he cried in alarm. Thoughhis voice was squeaky, he was surprised t