LITTLE ANTON

THE DAY BEFORE LITTLE ANTON was due to arrive in the United States the Board of Directors of the Luedesing Time and Instrument Corporation of New Haven met in special session to determine the fate of his great-uncle, Papa Schimmelhorn.

Through gold-rimmed spectacles, old Heinrich Luedesing glared at his son Woodrow, at the Board, and at Captain Perseus Otter, U.S.N. "I haff said vun thousand times," he puffed, "und now I say again�nefer vill I fire Papa Schimmelhorn. He iss a chenius! "

"Now now, Dad," soothed Woodrow Luedes�ing, forcing his features into their second-best Dale Carnegie smile, "it's just that things have changed. Remember, we aren't simply the old Luedesing cuckoo clock factory any more. We've converted. We've retooled. New capital has come into the firm. We have a contract�the con�tract�to make those super-secret Wilen scanners for the Navy. It's stuff that takes high-pow�ered scientific knowhow. It can't be handled by a cuckoo clock technology."

Obstinately, old Heinrich shook his head. "Well, Dad." The smile, slipping out of gear, was instantly replaced by proper filial sympathy and sorrow. ". . . We didn't want to have to force the issue. But . . ." Woodrow shrugged, "... you leave us no alternative. After the Captain gives us the Navy point of view, we'll have to call a vote.^"

Captain Perseus Otter rose, jutting sharply forward as he did so. This accentuated his amaz�ing likeness to Lord Nelson�or rather to a fig�urehead of Nelson carved by some sculptor of strongly anti-British tendencies. It was an un�fortunate singularity, cruelly noticed by a long succession of superior officers and by all the ladies who might have married him. It had turned him into a bitter man.

Captain Otter fixed old Heinrich with the sort of gaze usually reserved for derelicts which refuse to sink. "Mr. Luedesing," he snapped, "eight weeks ago, I approved your promotion of this man Schimmelhorn from foreman to super�intendent of production. In my opinion, he was not qualified for the position. He is more than eighty years of age. He left school at eleven. His IQ isn't much higher than a high-grade moron's. His moral character is reprehensible. However, I deferred to your judgement. Here, sir, are the results."

He removed two gadgets from his brief case. "As you are aware, the critical element in the Wilen scanner�the part which enables us to de�tect every ship and aircraft, friend or foe, within a thousand miles�is Assembly M. It is so secret that none of us knows what it contains, so secret that it must be manufactured entirely by sealed automatic mechanisms. These machines were installed by Schimmelhorn. He alone has been told how they function. All we know," the Captain's voice quivered with righteous wrath, "is that Assembly M is supposed to come out in one piece instead of two�and that there should be no clockwork in it!"

The table buzzed. The gadgets passed from hand to hand�a seamless silver ovoid with six slender porcelain legs, and a toadstool-shaped vacuum tube full of odd bric-a-brac, in the center of which several brass gears were clearly visible.

"I shall summarize," declared Captain Otter. "One, the gears do not belong within the tube. Two, the tube belongs inside the unit, where it is now impossible to put it. Three, we shall have to bring Wilen himself down from M.I.T. to reme�dy the situation. And four�"As though an unat�tired mermaid had cut across his bows, he blushed. "�since Thursday, Mr. Luedesing, there have been twenty-eight complaints from female employees. Schimmelhorn is continually molesting them."

"Papa Schimmelhorn does nodt molest vomen," fumed old Heinrich. "He chust makes passes."

Captain Otter folded his arms. "I shall state the Navy's attitude simply and directly. Mr. Luedesing, Schimmelhorn must go!"

Immediately afterward, by a vote of eight to one, the members of the Board decided to retire Papa Schimmelhorn, complete with gold watch, pension, and signed testimonial. Then, at Woodrow Luedesing's suggestion, they sent for him to tell him the good news.

Papa Schimmelhorn was twice as big as Heinrich Luedesing. He was attired gloriously in hound's-tooth-check trousers, green plaid sports coat, and devastating orange shirt�and on his ruddy cheek, midway between his left eyebrow and his huge white beard, there was a smear of lipstick.

He seated himself casually on a corner of the table, and put an arm around old Heinrich's shoulders. "Alvays, Heinrich, vith such nincom�poops you shpend your time. Iss bedter you come vith Papa Schimmelhorn, to see dot new blonde in der shipping office. I tell you�" he pointed at the Captain and favored the Directors with an enormous wink, "�she would make efen dot sailor come to life!"

Captain Perseus Otter fizzed slightly, like something starting to go off. And Woodrow Luedesing, trying to assume a friendly but ex�ecutive expression, stepped into the breach.

"We've been discussing you, Mr. Schim�melhorn," he purred. "We have been concerned about you�your advanced age, the strain of ad�justing yourself to the swift pace of modern in�dustry, the impact of new problems too complex for your simple skills. It is sad but true that sooner or later the torch of progress must be passed on by the failing hands of those who have so bravely carried it. The Luedesing Time and Instrument Corporation, Mr. Schimmelhorn, wants your few remaining years to be happy ones. As General Manager, I�"

There was a cheerful bellow from Papa Schimmelhorn. "Heinrich, such nonsense Voodrow talks! I tell you vot he needs," he raised a ham-like, and by no means failing, hand, "vun goot lesson on der backside. Dot iss enough!"

Woodrow Luedesing, paling slightly, scurried to shelter in Captain Otter's lee. Several direc�tors quickly pushed chairs between themselves and Papa Schimmelhorn.

"Nein, Papa, nein." A tear splashed on old Heinrich's thick mustache. "It iss now too late. You do nodt vork here any more! You haff been retired, vith a pension, and a gold vatch, and maybe a diploma."

"At my recommendation," put in Captain Per�seus Otter loftily.

"Ach, zo?" Papa Schimmelhorn didn't seem the least bit stricken. "Heinrich, now ve under�shtand. It iss because of Voodrow, who iss ashamed of cuckoo clocks. It iss alzo�" he looked the Captain up and down, ^"�because of him. He iss chealous because he cannodt get a girl like oder sailors!"

Two of the directors snickered, and Captain Otter began to fizz again. But old Heinrich was not comforted.

"I haff told them, Papa, that vithoudt you der vorks break down. I haff told them how you haff been a chanitor at der Geneva Institute of der Higher Physics, vhere you listen to der Herr Pro�fessors and become a chenius. But der Captain says der dingus iss all wrong ..."

Chuckling, Papa Schimmelhorn turned his back on the directors. "You listen, Heinrich. I haff vun improfement made. From these dun�derheads I keep it zecret. But, at der Instiute, three veeks I miss because I meet a vidow vith red hair, zo," he tapped his skull. "Something iss nodt in here, and der inzide of der dingus iss shtill oudt. Don'dt vorry, Heinrich, I vill fix. I vish mein old friend Albert, in New Chersey, vas alife. He vas a shmart boy in Schvitzerland�almost, like me, a chenius. Right after I bring Lidtle Anton I vill go to Princeton vhere maybe his friends can help."

From his pocket he took a tinted photograph, showing a plump, slightly cross-eyed infant peer�ing knowingly at a buxom nurse. "Here iss Lid�tle Anton," he exclaimed proudly. "Eighteen pounds vhen he vas born! Und now they are ex�borting him from Schvitzerland to me and Mama, so he grows up to be a fine man, and nodt like Voodrow."

He rose, bright eyes twinkling at the Board. "Don'dt you be angry vith them, Heinrich. Soon they make a big mess�und then they beg me to come back, and everything iss fixed. Und then," he slapped his mighty chest, "oh, ho-ho-ho! Maybe, if he is goot, I show dot sailor how to catch a girl!"

When Papa Schimmelhorn arrived at Immi�gration and asked for little Anton Fledermaus, the authorities concerned immediately aban�doned a boatload of assorted immigrants to ex�pedite his mission personally.

He noticed nothing unusual about this. Wait�ing, he flirted with a dark girl from Marrakech and congratulated himself on escaping beyond the reach of Mama Schimmelhorn's steely eye and stiff black umbrella.

Largely on the strength of Little Anton's photograph, he had equipped himself with a me�chanical turtle, a gaudy lollipop, and a work in�volving a character named Willie Wabbit. Therefore he paid no heed when he saw two uniformed attendants gingerly urging forward an overgrown cherub who had suddenly erupted into the most revolting stage of adolescence. This youth wore knickers and a jacket three sizes too tight for him, and carried no luggage except a toothbrush in his breast pocket. The attendants led him up to Papa Schimmelhorn, blurted, "He's all yours," and hastily withdrew.

Taking off his cap respectfully, the youth addressed Papa Schimmelhorn as "dear great-un�cle." Then, in a voice alternating between a tor�tured treble and a bullfrog bass, he made a little speech in German, conveying the best wishes of numerous relatives and promising that he would be a good boy and do what he was told.

^"LIDTLE ANTON!^" Papa Schimmelhorn released the girl from Marrakech. He embraced the youth exuberantly. He held him at arm's length for a pleased inspection. "Lidtle Anton, how you grow!"

Little Anton retreated out of reach. "Boy-oh-�boy!" he said. "Am I glad that's over." "But�but you shpeak English?"

"Natch," growled Little Anton. "I see the gangster pitchers. That Dutch stuff I gave you was for effect."

"Oh, ho-ho-ho! To think I bring a lollipop and a toy turtle!" Papa Schimmelhorn was con�vulsed. "Der goot choke iss on me!"

Little Anton peered at the girl. For a moment, his eyes crossed. "Pop," he snickered, "it sure woulda been if I hadn't come along. Well, my stuff's due later�so kiss her goodbye and let's take in a good old U.S. porn flick."

These evidences of precocity delighted Papa Schimmelhorn. He pinched Miss Marrakech, who simpered prettily in Arabic. He took Little Anton fondly by the arm.

"Und now," he said, as they departed, "ve go to Princeton, in New Chersey, vhere there are shmart people who knew my old friend Albert Einshtein. Dot must come first, before efen der mofie show. Und on der vay I tell you all aboudt America�"

At once, he told the story of Cheorge Vashington and der cherry tree�and this led him, naturally, into the subject of his own ca�reer. By the time they reached Penn Station�where they paused to reclaim a worn carpetbag and a large shoe box from the checkroom�Little Anton had been made acquainted with the private lives of several festive ladies of Berne, New Haven, and points in between. By the time they reached jersey, he had been briefed on the necessity for a united male front against Mama Schimmelhorn's domestic tyranny. And, before their train had been ten minutes under way, he had received technical information on the Wilen scanner, the bare, uncensored thought of which would have given Captain Perseus Otter a con�niption fit.

He heard all this with half an ear. Occasion-ally, he rumbled an "uh-huh" or squeaked out a "no kiddin'?" Once, looking at his great-uncle in open admiration, he exclaimed, "Yuk-yuk!

When I get to your age, Pop, I wanna be an old goat just like you." But he spent most of his time staring at fellow passengers, usually feminine ones, letting his eyes cross, and making such pithy comments as "woo-woo!" or "phooey."

Finally, though, Papa Schimmelhorn tapped the shoe box resting on his knees, and said, "Zo, Lidtle Anton, dot iss vhy I bring vun dingus only �because it iss zo zecret. It vill do eferything dot I haff told aboudt, alzo anoder trick vhich iss a big surbrise."

Little Anton's eyes widened. Focusing on the shoe box, they crossed slightly. "Yipe! " he remarked. "You got it right here with you, huh?" Then, with evident pleasure, he jerked his thumb over his left shoulder. "Hey, I betcha that's why that little bastard in the corner's been tailing us!" he cried. "I betcha he's a spy."

Papa Schimmelhorn was not just a genius. He was a genius with savoir faire. Turning calmly, he squinted at the undersized, sallow individual three seats behind them. Instantly he was amused. "Dumkopf."" he guffawed. "Chust because he follows, it does nodt mean der lidtle bastard iss a shpy. Haff you nodt heard about der FBI? Dot's vot he iss. It iss security."

"Nuts to you, Pop," retorted Little Anton loudly. "I seen G-men in pitchers. They don't look like what you catch in rat traps."

"Ho-ho!" Papa Schimmelhorn slapped his thigh; his merriment resounded through the car. "Der FBI iss defer, Lidtle Anton. Dot iss a dis�guise!"

By now, all eyes were on them, and comments were being freely made on every hand. This seemed to embarrass the little man. For a few seconds he wiggled in his seat. Then, pulling his pork-pie hat down over his ears, he scuttled out and vanished.

Afer that, the tumult gradually subsided, and the other passengers, losing interest, went back to their newspapers and naps.

Papa Schimmelhorn patted Little Anton on the head. "You are a foolish boy,^" he told him. "Vhen you are older iss time maybe to vorry aboudt shpies. Iss bedter now you leaf it all to me.^"

"Fooey," muttered Little Anton. "I guess you think you're the only genius in the family. Well, Pop, don't say I didn't tell you." And he withdrew into himself, to stare at his feet and pick moodily at an occasional pimple.

Papa Schimmelhorn did not chide him for his rudeness. Suddenly he sat bolt upright, eyes flashing, whiskers twitching. A tall brunette was coming down the aisle toward them.

She was a very-well-turned brunette, a bit like those who used to undulate through the earlier efforts of Cecil B. DeMille, but with modern up�holstery. She wore something spectacularly black, dangled long scarlet earrings, and carried a neat overnight bag. As she came slithering up to them, her slanting eyes seemed to search each face longingly. Then they found Papa Schimmelhorn's and rested there. Passing by, she gave him a lingering, torrid smile.

Papa Schimmelhorn took a deep breath and looked at Little Anton. Little Anton uncrossed his eyes, drooled, and said, "Yum-yum." Momen�tarily, at least, rapport was re-established.

The brunette took the seat once occupied by the small, sallow man. Her perfume drifted forward to them powerfully.

It made the hairs in Papa Schimmelhorn's big ears quiver. "Lidtle Anton," he said decisively. "I haff ideas ..."

"Me too!" croaked Little Anton.

" � And vun idea iss dot she iss going to At�lantic City, for der beaudty condests. Und anoder iss dot Albert's friends are maybe busy vith der grafity, and die black holes, and theories I cannot undershtand. Iss plenty time. Ve, you and I, take maybe a vacation by der sea. Maybe ve go to this Atlantic City, vhere are such in�deresting people. You can learn all aboudt America ... "

The Lorelei Hotel was neither the finest nor the most fashionable in Atlantic City. Its days of glory had departed with the bloomer bathing suit, and now it catered to retired clergymen, lieutenant colonels' widows, and people in modest circumstances with four or more chil�dren.

Papa Schimmelhorn and Little Anton, falling into none of these categories, were welcomed coldly by the management. A grim Nantucket clerk inspected them, demanded payment in ad�vance, and had them whisked so quickly through the lobby's purple plush and potted palms that they failed to see the brunette and the small man in the pork-pie hat registering in their wake.

Papa Schimmelhorn surveyed their room with satisfaction. Appropriating the bed nearest the window, he unpacked his carpetbag, taking from it a gay aloha shirt, a pair of sandals, a suit of flowered puce pajamas which he suspended from the gilded gas-and-electric chandelier, and a cuckoo clock. This last, with the aid of a large nail and a shoe heel, he hung upon the wall.

"Chust like at home," he sighed�and waited for Little Anton to say something complimen�tary.

But there was no reply. Instead, behind him, he heard a sharp, metallic click. He turned�and gasped.

Kneeling on the floor, Little Anton was un�locking the first of three enormous suitcases.

"Vhere�?" exclaimed Papa Schimmelhorn. "Vhere did you get those?"

"Switzerland,^" said Little Anton placidly. "But�Gott im Himmel�How?^"

"I wanna be a smuggler. I'm practicing. When I'm real good, I'll sneak Chicanos in over the border. But this'll do for now. You're a gen�ius, Pop, you can figger the technique out in no time.^"

He opened the first suitcase. "Watches,^" he stated smugly. "Two hunerd of 'em, duty free." He opened up the second. "Algerian post cards," he announced. "They oughta go like hot cakes.^"

Papa Schimmelhorn took one quick look. "No vunder they exborted you from Schvitzerland,^" he muttered, turning crimson.

"My clothes and stuff," finished Little Anton, indicating the third suitcase. "They'll keep till later."

But Papa Schimmelhorn said nothing more. He sat down on his bed, and, while Little Anton busily took inventory, he ransacked his mind for scraps of information about his grand-nephew. Once in a while, he recalled, Mitzi Flederma,us had mentioned her small son in letters to Mama. Little Anton had been an imaginative child, dreaming funny dreams, claiming to have playmates whom he alone could see, disappearing for hours on end mysteriously. And hadn't there been some odd business about shoplifting, which nobody could prove?

Papa Schimmelhorn's brain whirred and clicked, considering all these matters together with such other data as the lad's uncanny mas�tery of colloquial English. He came to a con�clusion.

"Mein Lidtle Anton," he began sweetly. "I haff been thinking. Vhere iss vun chenius in der family iss maybe more ..."

Little Anton was stuffing packages of post cards in his pockets. "Now you're catching on," he grunted without pausing.

��and right avay, vhen you arrife, I say, `Our Lidtle Anton iss zo shmart, a child protigy. Someday he iss a chenius chust like me.' "

"Pop," said Little Anton, "you don't know the half of it."

Papa Schimmelhorn's voice became deeply se�rious. "Ve cheniuses must shtick together, Lidtle Anton. I vill teach you eferything I know, and you�" he rubbed his hands, "�viii show me how iss vorked der lidtle suidcase trick."

"Yuk-yuk!" crowed Little Anton. "You sure got a corny line, Pop." He moved toward the door.

"Vait, Lidtle Anton!" cried Papa Schim�melhorn. "Vhere are you going? Iss nine o'clock."

"I'm gonna peddle feelthy peectures," replied Little Anton, patting his bulging pockets. "This looks like just the place, and I need lettuce. And don't you worry none about the cops. Now everybody's liberated, and anyhow they can't touch us wholesalers." He turned the knob. For a fraction of a second he crossed his eyes. "Wan�na know something about that mouse aboard the train, Pop?" he asked. "She's got a cuckoo tattoed on her tummy!^"

Abruptly the door closed behind him, and he was gone�leaving his great-uncle with an im�agination nicely titillated, and an even tougher problem on his mind.

"Vould you belief it?" marveled Papa Schim�melhorn. "A cuckoo on der tummy. How beau�dtiful!"

Like a caged tom-tiger, he started pacing up and down. How did the boy know? And how could that know-how be pried out of him? There �there had been something�something in one of Mitzi Fledermaus' letters, about how little Anton, then aged four, had been reproved for prattling of a corner around which no one else could see. Perhaps�

Papa Schimmelhorn stopped pacing. Chang�ing to sandals and aloha shirt, he stretched his huge frame on the bed in order to attack the problem comfortably. Presently, the cuckoo on the wall popped in and out and sang ten times, marking the hour . . .

And, almost at once, there came a tiny knock�ing on the door.

"Ho-ho?" boomed Papa Schimmelhorn. "Lidtle Anton, you are back zo soon?"

The door opened. But Little Anton did not enter. Instead, there stood the brunette. She was clad in cocktail pajamas of black and red, vague�ly Chinese in motif, fitting her like a snake's new skin.

Her eyes went wide as she saw Papa Schim�melhorn. Her hand flew to her lips. "Oh!" she cried out. "I�I must have the wrong room!"

Papa Schimmelhorn bounded to his feet. His beard almost swept the floor as he bowed. He assured her gallantly that, from his point of view, quite the reverse was true.

Suddenly she smiled. "Why, I know you. But �but the conductor told me you were going to Princeton. You're the professor who was on the train."

Papa Schimmelhorn hung his head modestly. "I am nodt a professor. I am chust a chenius."

"A�a genius! Oooh!" Somehow the door seemed to close itself behind her. "Then you know all about science, don't you? I mean about geometry and physics and�well, everything?" She clasped her hands together. "Please, may I come and talk to you sometime, when�when you aren't busy inventing your new theories?"

Her voice was deep, disturbing�rather like Edith Piaf with whipped cream. It set the follicles of Papa Schimmelhorn's beard to tin�gling. "I haff chust finished der qvota for this veek!" he roared gleefully. "Ve can talk now�"

He came toward her, eyes focused on her mid-riff. He took her gently but firmly by the elbow.

"Oh, Professor," she breathed, "I'm just so lucky."

Deciding to be subtle, he led her to a chair. "Der name iss Schimmelhorn," he cooed, "but you can call me Papa."

"My name is Sonya�er, that is, Sonya Lou."

"I call you Lulu. Dot iss easier. Don'dt vorry, I show you a goot time. I call der bellboy right avay for popcorn."

"I just adore popcorn," said Sonya Lou.

He rang for room service. He sat down on the chair's arm beside her. He let his right hand wander to her waist.

She looked up at him. "Now you shall tell me about science," she whispered fervently.

Papa Schimmelhorn's left hand moved to join his right. Its index finger hovered over her bright pajama jacket's second button. "Ve shtart," he told her, "by talking aboudt birds. I luff der lid�tle birds�zo cute! Shparrows and pipshqveaks and robin-redchests. But ezpecially�" he gave the button an experimental tweak, "�dear lidtle cuckoos."

Ferdinand Wilen's arrival in New Haven coin�cided closely with Papa Schimmelhorn's de�parture�and, at first, these two events seemed to do wonders for Captain Perseus Otter. He now jutted forward jauntily, as though, after a perilous and weary voyage, he had been dry-docked and given a fresh coat of paint. His likeness to the Hero of Trafalgar became even more striking than before. He even made an ef�fort to resume his fruitless courtship of a lush divorcee named Mrs. Bucklebank.

But two days passed�and three�and four. And on the fifth day Captain Otter found himself once more in the presence of old Heinrich Luedesing and of the Board. Only now they were reinforced. Wilen sat there, with a ner�vous tic and bags under his eyes. So did a vice admiral, bluff-bowed and broad in the beam. And two rear admirals. And a big, ruddy officer whose fourth row of gold braid was topped off with a loop.

The three admirals, obviously, were giving Captain Otter the deep freeze. The other officer, just as obviously, was trying to conceal what amounted to an utter fascination.

"Dr. Wilen," rapped the vice admiral, "please make your report."

Wilen's thin hands wrestled with each other on the table. "I've checked everything," he said hysterically. "I've gone over it four times�every servo-mechanism, every relay, each power supply and part and process�everything. And all I've found is a little waste space, and four terminals that don't lead anywhere." He gnawed his nails. "It ought to work, really it ought to! And�and it still turns out my tubes with c-c-clockwork in them, no matter what I do! And they're still out-side when they should be in. Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha‑ha!"

He collapsed sobbing; and the vice admiral turned to Otter.

"Well?" he said.

Captain Otter shivered and said nothing. "Speak up, Otter. Did you or did you not recommend the retirement of this�er, this Papa Schimmelhorn?"

"Yes, sir. But ..."

"Do you realize, Otter, that the Wilen scanner is a project on which we are engaged jointly with the British? As you have perhaps heard, they are our allies. They have gone to the trouble, Otter, to send their largest carrier over here�H.M.S. Impressive, commanded by this gentleman." He inclined his head toward the gold braid with the loops. "Captain Sir Sebastian Cobble, C.B. She's in New York harbor, equipped with everything except Assembly M. Assembly M must be installed aboard her in two days. Forty-eight hours, Otter. See to it. I'm holding you responsible."

There was a sigh, possibly of relief, from Woodrow Luedesing.

"I was given to understand, Admiral�" Cap�tain Perseus Otter was very pale, "�that my duties here were advisory. I have done what I could. I have even sent a man to search for Schimmelhorn. Beyond that ..."

"Come, come, Otter! It's scarcely our tradi�tion to push off our responsibilities, especially on civilians. Do you mean to tell me that since you came here you have been nothing but a figurehead?"

There was a sharp crack as Captain Sir Sebas�tian Cobble, C.B. bit his pipestem through.

"Certainly not, sir," sputtered Captain Otter.

"Well, then, you should have no trouble. Find this Schimmelhorn, have him fix this Assembly M or whatever it is, and get it aboard Impressive right away."

While the vice admiral was saying this, a sec�retary had entered and whispered something in old Heinrich's ear. "Now, I am sorry," he an�nounced unhappily. "Papa Schimmelhorn ve haff nodt found, but Mama Schimmelhorn iss here. If you vant, I bring her in."

"By all means," nodded the vice admiral. "She may have information."

Old Heinrich left the room and returned im�mediately escorting a very straight old lady in stiff black taffeta. She was armed with an um�brella, and there was fire in her eye.

"Chentlemen," said Heinrich Luedesing, "I like you to meet Mama Schimmelhorn."

The admirals rose.

Mama Schimmelhorn surveyed them. "Gobs," she remarked disapprovingly. "Drinking und chasing girls und making noise at night."

There was a display of self-restraint. "Madam�" the vice admiral bowed: "I am delighted. I am sure that you can be of help to us. We must find your husband ..."

"Ha!" The sharp ferrule of Mama Schim�melhorn's umbrella tapped the floor. "Dot no�goot! Fife days he iss avay�und here iss vot I get!" Opening a black, beaded reticule, she fished out a post card, and passed it to him.

It was not one of Little Anton's. It was a pic�ture of the Taj Mahal. On one of the windows, a big X had been scrawled. And, on the reverse, there was a message which, roughly translated, read: Haffing shvell time. Vish you vas here. X iss our room. Luff und kisses, your goof husband, Papa. (Also Lidtle Anton.)

"But he forgets der postmark!" cried Mama Schimmelhorn. "Atlantic City! Chust vait!"

The vice admiral thanked her. He promised to deliver Papa Schimmelhorn into her fond custody. Then he turned again to Captain Per�seus Otter.

"Well, we know where he is," he declared. "Take my advice, Otter. If it's agreeable to Sir Sebastian here, he can take you aboard Im�pressive, and put to sea. Contact the shore patrol at Atlantic City. They'll help you pick up Schim�melhorn. I hear he has one of the assemblies with him, so that's all settled. Now do you see how simple it all is?"

"Dot's vot I told you." Old Heinrich smiled and nodded. "Don'dt vorry. Papa Schim�melhorn vill fix."

"I shall sail at four, sir," said Captain Sir Sebastian Cobble, eyeing Captain Otter dubiously.

But Dr. Ferdinand Wilen said never a word. Staring intently at a point in space, he was busi�ly vibrating his lower lip with a forefinger.

While the inventor of Assembly M was puzzl�ing himself into this tizzy at New Haven, Papa Schimmelhorn and Little Anton were by no means idle in Atlantic City.

Day by day, Little Anton's smuggled stock of watches and Algerian post cards dwindled, while his newly acquired roll of bills fattened correspondingly.

Day after day, too, Papa Schimmelhorn pursued Sonya Lou, or Lulu. He tempted her, successively, with feats of strength, accounts of his past conquests, light refreshments, and burn�ing words of love. He even, on two occasions, gave her flowers.

And nothing worked, not even the desolate (and absolutely false) complaint that Mama Schimmelhorn did not understand him. So far as he was concerned, the cuckoo tattooed on her tummy remained a mystery.

He took it in his stride, confiding cheerfully in Little Anton late at night.

"You listen, Lidtle Anton," he would say. "vith dot girl Lulu iss something wrong up�shtairs. Imachine! Always she talks of science, science, science.^"

"Eight hunerd and sixty, and eighty, and a hunerd�makes nine hunerd," Little Anton would reply, counting his ill-gotten gains. "Not bad for three days' work, huh, Pop?"

"Maybe I pinch a lidtle�she says, `No, no. Tell me aboudt der relatifity.' Maybe I bite her ear�she says, `Don'dt think of me. I chust adore der dingus in der box�vot iss der princible?' Ach, Lidtle Anton, such a voman! It iss nodt nat�ural."

Then, "Ya know what?" Little Anton would remark. "I betcha she's a spy."

And so it went until the afternoon before Cap�tain Otter's painful experience with the ad�mirals. Little Anton had sold out all his post cards except an assorted package of three dozen, and he was taking a well-earned rest in the lobby of the Lorelei. Deep in a chair behind a potted palm, eyes crossed luxuriously, he was examin�ing the more interesting features of three plump young matrons gossiping some yards away.

Suddenly, almost in his ear, he heard a voice. It was low and vibrant, and he recognized it in�stantly as Sonya Lou's.

"But, Pedro," she was protesting, "I have been using Technique Forty-four, just as the Handbook says. Can I help it if the old fool won't respond? All he wants to do is pinch and feel and take my clothes off. My God, I'm black and blue all over!"

A man's voice answered her. "You must be patient, Sonya. You must remember all about detente. It is the correct technique.^"

Very quietly, Little Anton swiveled round. Forgetting the young matrons, he peeked through palm leaves�and saw a pork-pie hat.

The man's voice hardened. "You know the penalty for failure, do you not?"

"Of course I do." She laughed nervously. "I'm not giving up�I have another date with him tonight. But�oh, why couldn't it be that stupid boy of his instead? I could use Technique One�you know, in bed with nothing on�the shoe box in advance�and you could come and rescue me in time." She groaned. "At least I wouldn't have to wrestle for a week."

For a few moments Little Anton's face as�sumed the pale cast of thought. Then, silently, he took the post cards in his hand and pushed them through the leaves and dropped them in Pedro's coat pocket.

Presently, when the little man left the hotel alone, he followed him.

That night Sonya Lou did not keep her date with Papa Schimmelhorn. He waited twenty minutes, thirty, thirty-five. He paced the floor. Finally, calling her room and finding she was out, he shrugged his shoulders philosophically. "Iss plenty fishes in der sea," he told himself. "Der cuckoo iss tatooed, zo it vill vait."

With that, he thought of a manicurist whom he had carefully cultivated as a spare, poured out half the bag of hard rock candy which he had purchased that afternoon as bait, and, humming cheerily, went off to her apartment.

Her almost certain lack of avian adornment did not spoil his evening in the least�and he was in a mellow mood when he came back to the hotel at four A.M. He smiled tolerantly at Little Anton's untouched bed, tumbled into his own, and slept the sleep of conscious virtue until noon.

On awakening, his first thought was of Sonya Lou. Picking up the phone, he shouted. "Goot morning!" to the clerk. "Iss Papa Schim�melhorn. I vant to shpeak to Lulu!"

"Miss Mikvik checked out two hours ago," said the flat Nantucket voice clammily. "The management would like to know when you intend to follow her example."

"Vot?" The cuckoo on the abdomen�so beau�tiful!�took wing and disappeared, perhaps for-ever. "Vhere did she go?"

"No forwarding address," snapped the re�ceiver. It clicked offensively, and all was still.

Papa Schimmelhorn replaced it on the hook. He understood immediately that his magnetic personality had been too much for Lulu. It had aroused hidden passions of which she was afraid, and she had run away. Pityingly, he hoped the poor girl would never realize what she had missed.

He sat up and stretched, intending to give Lit�tle Anton a useful pointer about Life and women �and found that Little Anton was still among the missing. "Ach, veil," he thought, "boys vill be boys. He iss vith some high school girl�neck�ing and petting like der lidtle dofes�zo cute!"

Full of sentiment, he dressed, brushed out his beard, and went to lunch. En route, a headline caught his eye:

RED DIPLOMAT ARRESTED HERE

Ob�scene Pictures `Imperialistic Plot' Declares Third World Attache.

He looked more closely:

July 12: [ he read ] Pedro Gonzalez Popopoff, who identified himself as a `Cen�tral American' cultural attache, is currently in Altantic City's jail charged with possession of three dozen pornographic post cards described by arresting officers as "the hottest we've seen yet. Man, you couldn't even sell them in an adult bookstore."

Popopoff was seized yesterday on a tip furnished by an unidentified teenager whom he had allegedly approached as a potential customer. He was .. .

The news story went on to state that all Cen�tral American embassies had denied any knowl�edge of Gonzalez Popopoff: the Russians had stated flatly that he was an agent of the CIA; the Red Chinese had identified him positively as a lackey of Moscow revisionists, the Gang of Four, and a huge Taiwanese conglomerate.

"Tsk-tsk, how inderesting," said Papa Schim�melhorn, as he continued on his way, to spend the balance of the afternoon along the boardwalk and the beach, surrounded by a giggling coterie in negligible bikinis, each one of whom he graciously permitted to pull his whiskers, feel his gigantic biceps, and steal a kiss.

It was not until after supper, when he was returning dreamily to the hotel, that other matters forced themselves upon his mind. A gray jeep whipped around a corner, slammed on its brakes, and skidded alongside. Its pair of shore patrolmen regarded him with some astonish�ment.

"I reckon you're Pappy Schimmelhorn?" one of them said.

"Der vun and only, Chunior�dot's me!"

"Hop aboard, Pappy. You're comin' for a ride. The Navy wants you bad."

"Go avay!" laughed Papa Schimmelhorn, stepping back a pace. "Der funny pants I do nodt like. Alzo I am too old."

"Look, Pappy." The jeep began to snort im�patiently. "We ain't recruitin^' you. There's big brass in a hurry back at your hotel. Now tuck the spinach in and come along."

"Ach, dot iss different." At once, Papa Schim�melhorn guessed that Captain Otter was in need of help. "He vants to ask me how to catch his girl. Of course I come!"

He vaulted in. The jeep took off. Beard streaming in the wind, he was whisked back to the Lorelei, where the shore patrolmen accom�panied him directly to his door.

He entered with a flourish. "Veil, sailor boy," he roared, spying Captain Perseus Otter, "now you haff goot sense! Soon, vhen I teach you, der vomen vill run after you like flies." His gaze moved to the right. "Und you bring a friend!" he cried delightedly. "A cholly Chack Tar! Goot, ve get him a date too." He looked between them. "Oh, ho-ho-ho! Und here is Lidtle Anton, der naughdy boy, who iss oudt all night."

Captain Otter rose. A mild case of seasickness had made him rather green around the gills. He looked as though he had spent some years under a moldering bowsprit in the Sargasso Sea.

"Mr. Schimmelhorn." He tried heroically to smile. "This is Captain Sir Sebastian Cobble, commanding Her Majesty's Ship Impressive, now lying-to offshore."

Papa Schimmelhorn and Captain Cobble shook hands, expressing mutual pleasure.

"Clever lad you have here," said Sir Sebas�tian, gesturing at Little Anton with his pipe. "Frightfully well informed. We've been discuss�ing smuggling�fascinating�interested in it since I was a boy."

"He iss precocious," bragged Papa Schimmelhorn. "It iss in der family. Myzelf�"

Hastily, Captain Perseus Otter intervened. "I fear that I have failed to make our purpose clear. It is not�er, recreation. Certain--um�dif�ficulties have come up in the plant, and--well, the long and short of it, ha-ha, is that we now want you to fix the assembly you have with you as soon as possible, and install it aboard Impressive right away."

"Ha, zo der vorks iss fouled?" laughed Papa Schimmelhorn. "I told you zo. Veil, don'dt you vorry, sailor boy. Now ve go shtrait to Princeton. It only takes maybe a veek for Albert's friends to fix."

"A week?" Captain Otter thought dismally of his number on the promotion list. "It's an emer�gency. You'll have to do it by tomorrow noon. Please, Mr. Schimmelhorn."

"Dot iss imbossible. Der inzide iss shtill oudt. I get der dingus, and I show you vhy�"

Little Anton shifted uncomfortably. "Hey, Pop ..."

"Shh, Lidtle Anton. Vhen I am busy, do not inderrupt." Papa Schimmelhorn was on his knees, searching beneath his bed. "How stranche! I hide der shoe box here before I go, because it iss a zecret. Now vhere iss?"

"Pop."

"Shudt up! Maybe iss on der oder side ..."

"Pop." Little Anton said, "you might as well get up. Your shoe box isn't there."

There was a dreadful hush.

"Where d'ya think I been all night? That Sonya Lou of yours was after it�she was a spy. I peddled it to her . . ." Little Anton smirked and licked his chops. "But not for money, Pop. Uh-uh.^"

"Vot?" bellowed Papa Schimmelhorn. "Vot haff you done?"

"Incredible!" Captain Cobble cried, ruining another pipestem permanently.

"Treason! Cold-blooded treason!" gasped Captain Perseus Otter, turning an even more liv�id color than before.

"Aw, keep yer britches on." Little Anton re�mained unperturbed. "I sealed that shoe box good. I betcha she's halfway to Europe with it now. But they won't find no dingus in it. What kinda sucker do you think I am?" He pointed at the bare nail protruding from the wall. "Anything secret about a cuckoo clock?" he said.

Captain Otter wiped the cold sweat from his brow. His momentary vision of Boards of In�quiry and of Naval Courts started to dissolve. "You�you mean?" he stuttered. "It's still here?"

"Right in Pop's carpetbag." Little Anton swelled his chest. "I guess I'm pretty sharp, huh, Cap?"

Papa Schimmelhorn reached in the carpetbag. He found the silver ovoid instantly. He reached in again, and felt around�and brought his hand out empty. "But here iss only half." He frowned. "Vhere iss der rest of it?"

"Oh, that. " Little Anton smiled superciliously. "I fixed it, genius. I put it back inside where it belongs."

"Nonzense! " exclaimed Papa Schimmelhorn.

"Okay, you don't believe me." Sneering, Lit�tle Anton held out a hand. "Gimme."

He took Assembly M. His eyes crossed quite appallingly. His fingers made one quick and curious movement ...

And there was the tube, complete with clockwork, out again.

"Betcha you don't know how it's done!" he challenged them.

But Captain Perseus Otter was not interested. "My boy," he said, not unemotionally, "these little technical details can wait. You have done splendidly. I personally will mention you in my report. But now we have important work to do."

He tapped his watch. "We'd best be under way.^"

And, as they headed for the sea and H.M.S. Impressive, he told himself that now, at least, their troubles were all over.

He had forgotten the brass gears in the tube.

Thirty-six hours after Papa Schimmelhorn and Little Anton put to sea, the Chief of Naval Operations flew in from Washington. Accom�panied by two harried persons from the State Department, he stormed into the office of that vice admiral who had made life so difficult for Captain Otter, and, in the most unfriendly tone imaginable, said, ^"Well."

The vice admiral shuddered and said nothing.

"Speak up, Marlinson. You are aware that the British are our allies, are you not? You understand that, like most seafaring people, they much prefer to keep their naval craft afloat? And you admit, I trust, that it is to our interest to help them do so?"

"Y-yes, sir�but ..."

"May I remind you, Marlinson, that we've had Otters in the Navy since the Revolution? Surely you have heard of Commodore Columbus Otter, who sailed his squadron into the Sus�quehannah River and disappeared, a feat no other officer has duplicated? And of Commander Leviathan Otter, who went down with the monitor Mugwump in Charleston harbor in 1863, quite certain that he was putting in to Portland, Maine? And of Lieutenant Ahab Otter, who so clearly demonstrated the impracticability of div�ing submarines with their hatches open?" He raised his voice, "And knowing all this, Marlinson," he roared, "you ordered Captain Perseus Otter ABOARD A SHIP!^"

Shamefacedly, the vice admiral hung his head.

"And not just any ship. Fully aware of his re�markable appearance, you ordered him aboard a British ship ..."

The Chief of Naval Operations continued for several minutes more, deploring the effete age which prohibited such picturesque and useful customs as keelhauling and flogging through the fleet. Then

"Marlinson," he said, "H.M.S. Impressive picked up your people on Wednesday, at 22:04. At 23:18, we received a strange radiogram. It read, SCANNER WORKS STOP PUTTING TO SEA FOR MORE EXTENSIVE TESTS STOP ARRIVE NEW YORK NOON FRIDAY STOP PAPA SENDS LOVE TO MAMA STOP (SIGNED) COBBLE. There has been nothing since. Every available air and surface craft has searched without success. We can only conclude that H.NI.S. Impressive has gone down with all hands. There will be grave international re�percussions, Marlinson."

"I can just hear the Times editorials now." "Just thank God Churchill's dead!" sighed the second, somberly.

The Chief of Naval Operations rose to go. "We've kept this secret, Admiral Marlinson, so far. But after noon today it must come out. It's your responsibility. Therefore you will accom�pany the British naval attache when he goes out to meet their ship. When she does not show up, you will explain why she isn't there. After that, you can report to me in person."

They left; and, half an hour later, the vice admiral dismally stepped aboard the burnished barge which, he was sure, fate had chosen to wit�ness one of the closing scenes of his career. The British naval attache was there, attended by two aides, sundry officers of his, own staff, and a pert ensign in the Waves. So were Heinrich Luedes�ing and Woodrow Luedesing and Ferdinand Wilen, somewhat calmer now.

Disciplining his voice, he greeted them. The barge cast off; and, all the way down the bay, he prayed devoutly for a miracle. But, when minutes ahead of time the point of rendezvous was reached, the sea was bare.

The naval attache searched the horizon with binoculars. "Strange," he said, "very strange. She really ought to be in sight by now."

Everyone else made similar remarks.

Only Vice Admiral Marlinson was silent. The seconds passed. High noon came nearer quite re�morselessly. Anxiety appeared on every face but Heinrich Luedesing's.

Finally, when only fifteen seconds still re�mained, the Admiral braced himself. He drew the naval attache aside. "It is my painful duty . . ." he began. He stopped to wipe his brow. "It is my duty�"

He had no chance to finish. There was a shrill squeal from the little Wave, a general cry-‑

"By God, there she is!" exclaimed the attache, pointing excitedly to port.

And there, scarcely a cablelength away, long and gray and grim, lay H.M.S. Impressive. Her crew was mustered on the flight deck for review. Her band was striking up God Save the Queen. And, over all, a foghorn voice was shouting, ^"ACH, HEINRICH! HERE I AM! YOO-HOO! BLOW DER MAN DOWN! SHIP AHOY!"

Within two minutes, the dazed vice admiral was being piped aboard. In less than three, he had met Papa Schimmelhorn and Little Anton, both wearing jaunty sailor hats with H.M.S. Im�pressive on their ribbons. In five, he had recovered to the point where, drawing Captain Perseus Ot�ter slightly to one side, he could demand, "Where in the name of all that's holy HAVE YOU BEEN?^"

Captain Otter was unshaven. He wore his cap at an angle which, on any junior officer, he would strongly have disapproved. But there was a new light in his eye.

"At sea, sir!" said he.

"Indeed?" barked the vice admiral, warming up. "Are you aware, sir, that every blessed plane and ship and State Department clerk has been searching for you from hell to breakfast since you disappeared?"

Captain Otter smiled. He began to laugh. He held his sides, threw back his head, and whooped.

The admiral's emotional barometer swung sharply over toward apoplexy. "And would you mind informing me just what is so amusing?" he asked dangerously.

But it was Papa Schimmelhorn who answered him. In the most friendly fashion, he slapped him on the back. "Ho-ho-ho-ho!" he boomed, "Of courze you could nodt find us, sailor boy. It iss der Schimmelhorn Effect! Der lidtle vheels in�zide der tube go round. Und right avay ve are infisible!"

"In�invisible?"

"Precisely, sir," said Captain Perseus Otter, making his comeback with surprising speed. "And completely so�to the human eye, to cameras, even to radar. However, it is my duty to request that you, sir, ask for no further informa�tion." He smiled serenely. "The Schimmelhorn Effect is highly secret."

"But�" The admiral started to protest. He got no further.

"Eeeek!" cried the little Wave, behind him.

He whirled. The Wave was blushing furiously. She was pointing an outraged finger at Captain Cobble. "Make�make him stop doing that! " she squealed.

Captain Cobble chuckled. His eyes uncrossed themselves.

"Here, here! What's going on?" snapped the vice admiral.

For just an instant Captain Sir Sebastian Cob�ble looked round self-consciously. Then:

"Going on, sir?" He winked at Little Anton. "Ah�just a bit more of this scientific know-how. The�the Fledermaus Effect."

It would be profitless to elaborate at too great a length on subsequent events aboard H.M.S. Impressive. The vice admiral delivered a short and stirring address, touching on such subjects as "tradition" and "hands across the sea." Captain Sir Sebastian Cobble bid a warm farewell to Captain Perseus Otter, assuring him�perhaps with his own vessel's unadorned prow in mind�that the Royal Navy could always find a place for him if he retired. Finally Papa Schimmelhorn was borne down the gangplank on the shoulders of four stalwart seamen, while the entire ship's complement sang For He's a jolly Good Fellow at the top of their voices.

Immediately afterward, Captain Otter, Papa Schimmelhorn, and Little Anton were flown to Washington, where they were questioned in great secrecy by naval experts, by technical ex�perts, and by envious representatives of the Air Forces and the Army�all of whom, finding themselves beyond their depth, concurred in rec�ommending that the whole business be left in Captain Otter's obviously able hands.

It was not until four days later that the Board of Directors of the Luedesing Time and Instru�ment Corporation of New Haven met for the express purpose of establishing a new order.

At the head of the table, old Heinrich Luedes�ing glared at his son Woodrow and at the Board. "I haff talked to Papa Schimmelhorn," he said. "Because ve are old friends, he says he vill come back�but only if ve make him Cheneral Man�ager, and Voodrow vorks for him ..."

"This is ridiculous!" Woodrow Luedesing's indignation was loud and shrill. "The man is ut�terly unqualified! Why, I'll resign! I'll ..."

"Bah!" Old Heinrich cut him short. "You vatch oudt, Voodrow, more nonzense and you haff a chob vorking inshtead for Lidtle Anton!"

Woodrow Luedesing looked around at the Board members for support�and found them unresponsive. Pouting, he lapsed into a sullen si�lence.

"Vell, dot iss settled," his father said decisive�ly. "Now, Herr Doktor Wilen makes his report, and Captain Otter maybe giffs a speech. Then ve haff a vote."

Ferdinand Wilen stood up, his expression a, curious mixture of relaxation and bewilderment. "Gentlemen," he said, "I know you realize how vital the Schimmelhorn Effect is to our strength and our security. I'm sure you'd like to understand just how it works. Well, so would I. At present the important thing is that it does work."

Several of the directors nodded emphatically.

"Your Papa Schimmelhorn�" Wilen grinned, "�did his best to explain the principle. He said that it was all because of Maxie's Constance, with whom he first became acquainted as a janitor at the Geneva Institute of Higher Phys�ics. It took me quite a while to see what he was getting at. His genius functions at a sub-conscious level. It absorbs theoretical informa�tion which is quite meaningless to him, ex�trapolates from it, and integrates it with his own primitive technology. Presto, out comes a� dingus! In this instance, by Maxie I think he means Max Planck. The little wheels go round�something happens which may involve the value of Planck's Constant, and�we have invisibility!"

"Remarkable!" said one or two of the direc�tors. "Astounding!" murmured several others.

"To say the least! And he used the same prin�ciple to conceal his extra manufacturing parts. Invisible, they occupied the `waste space' in the unit, and were powered by leads which seemed to go nowhere. That was why it drove me to dis�traction when I tried to fix it."

"But why didn't the�the dingus come out in one piece instead of two?" someone asked.

"Because he missed three weeks of lectures in Geneva. Something just wasn't in the recipe. And that�" he shuddered slightly, "�brings us to Little Anton Fledermaus, who has turned out to be a perfect substitute for that something that isn't there. In childhood, rare individuals display supranormal powers�the phychokinetic pol�tergeist phenomenon, for instance. According to the parapsychologists who have examined him, our Little Anton has retained contact with an area of existence which he describes as `just around the corner.' It seems to have no ordinary spaciotemporal coordinates, but to exist purely in relation to him. Light contact with it�when his eyes cross�enables him to see through such oth�erwise frustrating substances as silk, wool, and nylon. A closer contact�well, you've seen the demonstration. He holds the shell of Assembly M `around the corner.' Half of it seems to disappear. He pops the tube in. And there we are!"

A portly director wrinkled his brow unhappi�ly. "This science stuff's too deep for me," he grumbled. "What do we do now? That^'s what I want to know."

Wilen resumed his seat, and Captain Otter rose to address the Board. He was still unshaven. In fact, it was now apparent that he was letting his beard grow.

"I feel that this is not the time," he stated, "to quibble over theories and petty technicalities. Papa Schimmelhorn has shown his practical abili�ty to my complete satisfaction. Furthermore, he and young Fledermaus disposed adroitly of two extremely dangerous foreign agents. It is the opinion of the Department of the Navy�" he frowned severely at Woodrow Luedesing, "�that Papa Schimmelhorn should be reinstated on his own terms."

He sat down again. Old Heinrich called the Board to order. And without delay, by a vote of eight to one, Papa Schimmelhorn was promoted to the post of General Manager.

A burst of cheering followed the announce�ment, and a secretary was instantly sent off to carry the good news. Some minutes passed before the Board became aware that Dr. Wilen had something more to say.

"Though I am not associated with this firm," he began apologetically, "I should like to make one suggestion ..."

Old Heinrich urged him to proceed.

"A suggestion which I trust will be taken in good part by all concerned. Papa Schimmelhorn is undoubtedly a genius. So, in his way, is Little Anton. Besides, both of them have a certain ex�cess of exuberance, of joie de vivre. Perhaps it would be well�tactfully, of course�to take a few precautions in order, to�er, protect them from themselves?"

Old Heinrich nodded soberly. Captain Per�seus Otter reluctantly agreed that Dr. Wilen might have a point. But Woodrow Luedesing reacted much more sharply.

His pout vanished. Abruptly his face regained its rosy hue. He smiled beatifically. "Gentlemen," he said, "leave that to me."

At three the following afternoon, Woodrow Luedesing found Papa Schimmelhorn and Little Anton in the office which he himself had for�merly occupied. They were entertaining the shipping-office blonde. Papa Schimmelhorn, his arms around her slender waist, was telling her all about Sonya Lou. ". . . and Lidtle Anton says dot it vas nodt a cuckoo after all! It vas a bull�vinch! Ho-ho-ho!"

"Am I intruding?^" Woodrow asked diffident�ly.

Papa Schimmelhorn assured him that he was not. "Ach, now you work for me, you come right in! I vas chust telling Mimi here aboudt der lady shpy. Imachine it! To Europe she has gone vith der old shoe box, and opened it, and ... Here in der paper, look. Oh, ho-ho-ho!"

Woodrow Luedesing accepted the newspaper, and, while Papa Schimmelhorn almost split his sides, he read a dispatch from Tass which claimed peevishly that the first cuckoo clock had really been invented by an intelligent young peasant from Kiev centuries before the Western world had even heard of such a thing.

"How fascinating," Woodrow remarked po�litely. "But what I really came to see you about, sir, was a small business matter ..."

"Don'dt worry aboudt business, Voodrow!" cried Papa Schimmelhorn. "I teach you now how nodt to be a stuffed shirt. I teach you to haff fun!"

"That's very good of you,^" replied Woodrow, "but, as you are General Manager, I felt that you should be the first to meet our new Director of Security. She's quite remarkable."

"She?" Papa Schimmelhorn flexed his biceps automatically. "Voodrow, iss she beaudtiful?" "I would say statuesque, sir. But come see for yourself. She's waiting for you in her office right now."

Papa Schimmelhorn gave the shipping-room blonde a hasty peck. Taking Little Anton and Woodrow each by an arm, he led the way.

Thus they marched down the hall�but, when they came to the door marked Security, Woodrow stepped aside. "I'll see you later, sir," he said, with a broad wink.

"You are a goot boy, after all," asserted Papa Schimmelhorn, returning it.

Then Papa Schimmelhorn and Little Anton opened the door and went in eagerly. They stopped dead still. They stared�

"Ha�!" said Mama Schimmelhorn.