"IF YOU'RE SMART—"
By Colin Keith
Seems a pretty obvious crack for a business sharper
to make to an inventor. "If you're so smart, why
don't you make some money yourself?" Maybe so.
But this scientist had an even better answer—
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction April 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"If you're so damn smart, why ain't you rich?"
That hoary wisecrack must have been all of three centuries old whenWolf Carmichael pulled it on Dr. Claud Kellog. The Wolf of Saturnloved it and used it often. That day he lay back in his swivel chair,chuckling offensively somewhere in the fatty depths of his triple chin,as he threw it. But his roving, piggish eyes showed no mirth. Theywere hard and scheming, the ruthless eyes that had made him masterof all commerce and industry throughout the Saturnian system. To hismoney-grubbing mentality, this question was the ultimate in triumphantrepartee.
"A scholar named Archimedes was asked that question once," replied Dr.Kellog, flushing angrily, "and to prove he could be rich if he wished,he knocked off his important mathematical researches long enough to buyup all the wine presses in the country. It was winter, then, but whenthe next fall came the vintners had to have their presses back or elselose the grape crop. Archimedes made a tidy profit."
"Never heard of him," snorted Carmichael. "Musta been some littlefellow on Venus. If he was a real big shot in the booze racket, he'd beon the board of Interplanetary Distillers. He aint."
Carmichael threw away the stump of the cigar he was smoking and litanother.
"To get back to this gadget of yours," he resumed indifferently. "Maybeit's as good as you say, maybe not. But George Carmichael was alwaysthe boy to give a struggling inventor a chance—"
Kellog winced. Yeah. Wolf would back anything that promised sure profitand no loss—provided he was given control.
"—so here's what I'm willing to do. Your proposition to have me lendyou enough to get your machines built is out—the machines mightflop, then where'd I be? What we'll do is this—incorporate yourwhatchamacallit—"
"Antichron."
"Antichron, huh? We'll incorporate it first, then put it intoproduction. I get fifty-five percent of the stock for promotion fee,we sell twenty to the public for working capital, and all the rest isyours. See?"
Kellog saw. It was a typical Carmichael proposition. Kellog wouldfurnish the work and brains, the sucker public the money. If theventure failed, Carmichael couldn't be hurt; if it succeeded, he wouldrake in the lion's share. Kellog reached for his hat and jammed it onhis head.
"That's pure burglary, Mr. Carmichael," he said fairly evenly,mustering all his powers of self-restraint. "I'll see you in hellfirst."
"Tut, tut, my boy," said Carmichael with a repetition of his nastychuckle, "how fiery you are! That's bad. You should never mix emotionwith business. Take me. Am I offended? No. I'll be here tomorrow, andthe day after that, and the day after that, ready to do business withyou. You'll come back—they always do."
Kellog only glared at him, then strode from the room, boiling at thearrogance of the grasping capitalist. And as he angrily made his waydown the main street of Saturnport, everything he saw added to hisrage—and to his gloom, too. For every enterprise of any magnitudeon Titan, or on any of the other Saturnian satel