The
dispute grew bitter.
"I'm right," I said, "and I'll prove it if you give me
time to consult the authorities."
"Consult your great-grandfather!" sneered one of the men.
"All right," I said, "I will."
I walked straight across the room to the telephone and
called up the agency.
"Give me my great-grandfather," I said. "I want him right
away."
He was there. Good, punctual old soul, I'll say that for
him. He was there.
"Great-grandfather," I said, "I'm in a discussion here
about the constitutionality of the Adamson Law, involving
the power of Congress under the Constitution. Now, you
remember the Constitution when they made it. Is the law
all right?"
There was silence.
"How does it stand, great-grandfather?" I said. "Will it
hold water?"
Then he spoke.
"Over here," he said, "there are no laws, no members of
Congress and no Adamsons; it's all bright and beautiful
and--"
"Great-grandfather," I said, as I hung up the receiver
in disgust, "you are a Mutt!"
I never spoke to him again. Yet I feel sorry for him,
feeble old soul, flitting about in the Illimitable, and
always so punctual to hurry to the telephone, so happy,
so feeble-witted and courteous; a better man, perhaps,
take it all in all, than he was in life; lonely, too, it
may be, out there in the Vastness.
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