"But it is! Most of the things brought here are so absurd. Automatic hat-tippers, self-defrosting galoshes, punching bags that defend themselves--" Disdainfully she indicated the display collection of screwball items we call our Chamber of Horrors. "It's simply marvelous to meet a man who has invented things really worth while." Honestly, the look in her eyes was sickening. But was Pat nauseated? Not he! The big goon was lapping it up like a famished feline. His simpering smirk stretched from ear to there as he murmured, "Now, Miss Thomas--" "Sandra, Mr. Pending," she sighed softly. "To you just plain ... Sandy. Please?" "Well, Sandy--" Pat gulped. I said disgustedly, "Look, you two--break it up! Love at first sight is wonderful in books, but in a Federal office I'm pretty sure it's unconstitutional, and it _may_ be subversive. Would you mind coming down to earth? Pat, you barged in here squalling about some new invention. Is that correct?" With an effort Pat wrenched his gaze from his new-found admirer and nodded soberly. "That's right, Mr. Mallory. And a great one, too. One that will revolutionate the world. Will you give me an applicaceous form, please? I want to file it immediately." "Not so fast, Pat. You know the routine. What's the nature of this remarkable discovery?" "You may write it down," said Pat grandiloquently, "as Pat Pending's lightening rod." I glanced at Joyce, and she at me, then both of us at Pending. "But, Pat," I exclaimed, "that's ridiculous! Ben Franklin invented the lightning rod two hundred years ago." "I said _lightening_," retorted my redheaded friend, "not _lightning_. My invention doesn't conduct electricity _to_ the ground, but _from_ it." He brandished a slim baton which until then I had assumed to be an ordinary walking-stick. "With this," he claimed, "I can make things weigh as much or as little as I please!" The eyes of Sandy Thomas needed only jet propulsion to become flying saucers. "Isn't he wonderful, Mr. Mallory?" she gasped. But her enthusiasm wasn't contagious. I glowered at Pending coldly. "Oh, come now, Pat!" I scoffed. "You can't really believe that yourself. After all, there _are_ such things as basic principles. Weight is not a variable factor. And so far as I know, Congress hasn't repealed the Law of Gravity." Pat sighed regretfully. "You're always so hard to convince, Mr. Mallory," he complained. "But--oh, well! Take this." He handed me the baton. I stared at it curiously. It looked rather like a British swagger stick: slim, dainty, well balanced. But the ornamental gadget at its top was not commonplace. It seemed to be a knob or a dial of some kind, divided into segments scored with vernier markings. I gazed at Pending askance. "Well, Pat? What now?" "How much do you weigh, Mr. Mallory?" "One sixty-five," I answered. "You're sure of that?" "I'm not. But my bathroom scales appeared to be. This morning. Why?" "Do you think Miss Joyce could lift you?"