beetle!”
Ellis picked up the book and opened it. As he read the pages a strange look came slowly over his face. “Good Heavens. So they kept a record of what I gave them. They put it all together in a book. Every word of it. And some commentaries, too. It’s all here—Every single word. It did have an effect, then. They passed it on. Wrote all of it down.”
“Go back to your office. I’m through looking at you for today. I’m through looking at you for ever. Your severance check will come through regular channels.”
In a trance, his face flushed with a strange excitement, Ellis gripped the book and moved dazedly towards the door. “Say, Mr. Miller. Can I have this? Can I take it along?”
“Sure,” Miller said wearily. “Sure, you can take it. You can read it on your way home tonight. On the public monojet transport.”
“Henry has something to show you,” Mary Ellis whispered excitedly, gripping Mrs. Lawrence’s arm. “Make sure you say the right thing.”
“The right thing?” Mrs. Lawrence faltered nervously, a trifle uneasy. “What is it? Nothing alive, I hope.”
“No, no.” Mary pushed her towards the study door. “Just smile.” She raised her voice. “Henry, Dorothy Lawrence is here.”
Henry Ellis appeared at the door of his study. He bowed slightly, a dignified figure in silk dressing gown, pipe in his mouth, fountain pen in one hand. “Good evening, Dorothy,” he said in a low, well-modulated voice. “Care to step into my study a moment?”
“Study?” Mrs. Lawrence came hesitantly in. “What do you study? I mean, Mary says you’ve been doing something very interesting recently, now that you’re not with—I mean, now that you’re home more. She didn’t give me any idea what it was, though.”
“Mrs. Lawrence’s eyes roved curiously around the study. The study was full of reference volumes, charts, a huge mahogany desk, an atlas, globe, leather chairs, an unbelievably ancient electric typewriter.
“Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “How odd. All these old things.”
Ellis lifted something carefully from the book-case and held it out to her casually. “By the way—you might glance at this.”
“What is it? A book?” Mrs. Lawrence took the book and examined it eagerly. “My goodness. Heavy, isn’t it?” She read the back, her lips moving. “What does it mean? It looks old. What strange letters! I’ve never seen anything like it. Holy Bible .” She glanced up brightly. “What is this ?”
Ellis smiled faintly. “Well—”
A light dawned. Mrs. Lawrence gasped in revelation. “Good Heavens! You didn’t write this, did you?”
Ellis’s smile broadened into a depreciating blush. A dignified hue of modesty. “Just a little thing I threw together,” he murmured indifferently. “My first, as a matter of fact.” Thoughtfully, he fingered his fountain pen. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really should be getting back to my work…”
THE BUILDER
“E. J. Elwood!” Lize said anxiously. “You aren’t listening to anything we’re saying. And you’re not eating a bit. What in the world is the matter with you? Sometimes I just can’t understand you.”
For a long time there was no response. Ernest Elwood continued to stare past them, staring out the window at the semi-darkness beyond, as if hearing something they did not hear. At last he sighed, drawing himself up in his chair, almost as if he were going to say something. But then his elbow knocked against his coffee cup and he turned instead to steady the cup, wiping spilled brown coffee from its side.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “What were you saying?”
“Eat dear,” his wife said. She glanced at the two boys as she spoke to see if they had stopped eating also. “You know, I go to a great deal of trouble to fix your food.” Bob, the older boy, was going right ahead, cutting his liver and bacon carefully into bits. But sure enough, little Toddy had put down his knife and fork as soon as
Ellis picked up the book and opened it. As he read the pages a strange look came slowly over his face. “Good Heavens. So they kept a record of what I gave them. They put it all together in a book. Every word of it. And some commentaries, too. It’s all here—Every single word. It did have an effect, then. They passed it on. Wrote all of it down.”
“Go back to your office. I’m through looking at you for today. I’m through looking at you for ever. Your severance check will come through regular channels.”
In a trance, his face flushed with a strange excitement, Ellis gripped the book and moved dazedly towards the door. “Say, Mr. Miller. Can I have this? Can I take it along?”
“Sure,” Miller said wearily. “Sure, you can take it. You can read it on your way home tonight. On the public monojet transport.”
“Henry has something to show you,” Mary Ellis whispered excitedly, gripping Mrs. Lawrence’s arm. “Make sure you say the right thing.”
“The right thing?” Mrs. Lawrence faltered nervously, a trifle uneasy. “What is it? Nothing alive, I hope.”
“No, no.” Mary pushed her towards the study door. “Just smile.” She raised her voice. “Henry, Dorothy Lawrence is here.”
Henry Ellis appeared at the door of his study. He bowed slightly, a dignified figure in silk dressing gown, pipe in his mouth, fountain pen in one hand. “Good evening, Dorothy,” he said in a low, well-modulated voice. “Care to step into my study a moment?”
“Study?” Mrs. Lawrence came hesitantly in. “What do you study? I mean, Mary says you’ve been doing something very interesting recently, now that you’re not with—I mean, now that you’re home more. She didn’t give me any idea what it was, though.”
“Mrs. Lawrence’s eyes roved curiously around the study. The study was full of reference volumes, charts, a huge mahogany desk, an atlas, globe, leather chairs, an unbelievably ancient electric typewriter.
“Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “How odd. All these old things.”
Ellis lifted something carefully from the book-case and held it out to her casually. “By the way—you might glance at this.”
“What is it? A book?” Mrs. Lawrence took the book and examined it eagerly. “My goodness. Heavy, isn’t it?” She read the back, her lips moving. “What does it mean? It looks old. What strange letters! I’ve never seen anything like it. Holy Bible .” She glanced up brightly. “What is this ?”
Ellis smiled faintly. “Well—”
A light dawned. Mrs. Lawrence gasped in revelation. “Good Heavens! You didn’t write this, did you?”
Ellis’s smile broadened into a depreciating blush. A dignified hue of modesty. “Just a little thing I threw together,” he murmured indifferently. “My first, as a matter of fact.” Thoughtfully, he fingered his fountain pen. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really should be getting back to my work…”
THE BUILDER
“E. J. Elwood!” Lize said anxiously. “You aren’t listening to anything we’re saying. And you’re not eating a bit. What in the world is the matter with you? Sometimes I just can’t understand you.”
For a long time there was no response. Ernest Elwood continued to stare past them, staring out the window at the semi-darkness beyond, as if hearing something they did not hear. At last he sighed, drawing himself up in his chair, almost as if he were going to say something. But then his elbow knocked against his coffee cup and he turned instead to steady the cup, wiping spilled brown coffee from its side.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “What were you saying?”
“Eat dear,” his wife said. She glanced at the two boys as she spoke to see if they had stopped eating also. “You know, I go to a great deal of trouble to fix your food.” Bob, the older boy, was going right ahead, cutting his liver and bacon carefully into bits. But sure enough, little Toddy had put down his knife and fork as soon as
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