Whiskaboom By ALAN ARKIN Illustrated by DIEHL [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction August 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Jack's blunder was disastrous, but what he worried about was: would Einstein have approved? Dear Mr. Gretch: Mrs. Burroughs and I are sending your son Jack to you because we do not know what else to do with him. As you can see, we can't keep him with us in his present condition. Also, Jack owes us two weeks rent and, since Mrs. Burroughs and I are retired, we would appreciate your sending the money. It has been a dry year and our garden has done poorly. The only reason we put up with your son in the first place was because we are so hard-pressed. He saw the sign on the porch, rang the bell and paid Mrs. Burroughs a month's rent without even looking at the room. Then he ran out to his car and commenced pulling out suitcases and boxes and dragging them upstairs. After the third trip, Mrs. Burroughs saw he was having trouble with the stuff and he looked kind of worn out, so she offered to help. He gave her a hard look, as she described it to me when I got home. He said, "I don't want anyone touching anything. Please don't interfere." "I didn't mean to interfere," my wife told him. "I only wanted to help." "I don't want any help," he said quietly, but with a wild look in his eye, and he staggered upstairs with the last of his baggage and locked the door. * * * * * When I got home, Mrs. Burroughs told me she thought I ought to take a look at the new boarder. I went up, thinking we'd have a little chat and straighten things out. I could hear him inside, hammering on something. He didn't hear my first knock or the second. I got sore and nearly banged the door down, at which time he decided to open up. I charged in, ready to fight a bear. And there was this skinny red-headed son of yours glaring at me. "That's a lot of hammering you're doing, son," I said. "That's the only way I can get these boxes open, and don't call me son." "I don't like to disturb you, Mr. Gretch, but Mrs. Burroughs is a little upset over the way you acted today. I think you ought to come down for a cup of tea and get acquainted." "I know I was rude," he said, looking a little ashamed, "but I have waited for years for a chance to get to work on my own, with no interference. I'll come down tomorrow, when I have got my equipment set up, and apologize to Mrs. Burroughs then." I asked him what he was working on, but he said he would explain later. Before I got out of the door, he was hammering again. He worked till after midnight.