(eng) Mack Reynolds by Depression or Bust

Author:Depression or Bust [Bust, Depression or]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

The two were seated at the heavy mahogany table when the Professor bustled in, followed at a trot by his secretary, Walthers.

They had been killing time discussing the latest developments of Project Porpoise.

Les Frankle said, "That's what they get for teaching overgrown fish to talk."

Jimmy Leath said, "Porpoises aren't fish. They're mammals, like we are; and have as big a brain capacity. It's just that they live in the ocean, instead of on land. What's wrong with teaching them to talk?"

"First they wanted pay to keep track of the herds of meat whales, so the President sent them a committee of long-winded negotiaters, and gave them a long song and dance about the Wagner Act, or something. At any rate, now they've formed a union."

"Lads, lads," the Professor said jovially. "Let us be about business."

The two came to their feet until the roly-poly older man took a chair at the table's end.

At first glance, possibly owing to the similarity of their dress, they might have been taken for being from the same mold, but not at second. The thinnest was wry and bitter of face; the youngest, unsure and unhappy.

The Professor had an informal word for each of his youthful staff. "Well, James how is the ulcer? Are we still on milk?"

Jimmy Leath was still on milk.

The Professor turned to the other. "Lester, has Irene convinced you as yet that you should resign from Doo-little Research and take a position a bit more, ah, worthy of your scholarly abilities?"

Les Frankle flushed. "Well, no sir, not yet."

The Professor smiled at him in fatherly condescension. "I can not quite see her point, lad. Where would your efforts gain greater remuneration than here? Especially in these days of unemployment."

Les squirmed. "Well, it's not that, Professor Doolittle. Irene's a do-gooder… well, in the best sense of the word. She thinks the fact that the best brains in the country are going into such fields as advertising, sales promotion, motivational research to learn how best to con the consumer…"

The Professor's shaggy white eyebrows went up. "Con?"

Les said apologetically, "A but of slang Irene used, sir. It's derived from confidence man."

"Indeed. So our crusader, Irene, lacks sympathy for our free enterprise society, eh? By George, where would you lads be, fresh out of the university, if there were not such organizations as Doolittle Research, ah, to take you in, and give you the opportunity to exercise your fledgling abilities?"

Les Frankle lacked the ability to dissimulate. He said earnestly, "Well, that's her point, sir. She says that such organizations as this take the country's best brains, use them while they're still fresh and trained in the latest techniques, then in a few years discard them for somebody younger and fresher. And by that time the individual is either disillusioned…" he looked at Jimmy "… or has ulcers, or is an alcoholic, or some such."

"A discouraging picture, By George," the Professor chuckled. "However, I suppose we should get to business lads."

He turned to Jimmy Leath. "So what

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