The Golden Age of Weird Fiction Megapack, Volume 5

by David H. Keller

  He prepared a dose of the serum, and injected it into the boy’s vein.

  “I am promising nothing,” he cautioned, “but I am asking two favors. First, I do not want any publicity. Second, there are three other people who have had the serum besides the newsboy. They live in this house. I will give you their names. I want you to take them to these specialists and have them examined. I also want their intelligence determined, their morals, and viewpoint on life. I want an analysis made of their metabolism, the number of calories it takes per day to keep them in health.

  “When they are finished, bring me the four reports. It might be interesting to have your son examined now, and again in a week, and at the end of a month. I am leaving New York today. I will give you my address. Keep it secret. You can pay the expenses of the examinations, otherwise you will owe me nothing.”

  “My boy is asleep,” commented the woman.

  “He will sleep. The first effect of the medicine is complete freedom from pain, which brings relaxation. Good night.”

  The man stood up, holding the sleeping boy close to him.

  “I cannot let you do this for nothing. Dunn and Bradstreet rate me as one of the rich men of America. I pay my debts.”

  “Wait!” almost commanded Ackerman. “Wait till you see what happens to your son. If he is helped, you will be given a chance to pay the debt. I am not forgetting that there are other sick children in the world, and I am not going to let you forget it either.”

  The visitors gone, he started to pack his bags. Frowning, he had to leave his work and open the door. A woman entered; glasses, tailored suit, a notebook, told her occupation. She handed the man a card. She was Betty Farday, star sob reporter of The Purple Flash, New York’s latest, and most startling, tabloid.

  “I am asking for an interview, Mr. Ackerman. When any worthwhile events take place in this city, The Purple Flash gets the news first. Who are you? What are you doing in the city? What kind of serum do you use? What did you do to Valencia Moore, who used to be Mary Casey of Shamokin, and who, for many months, has had the reputation of being the worst taxi girl in the dives of the city? What did you do to her and how did you do it?”

  “Did I do anything wrong to the young lady?” parried Ackerman.

  “No. That is just it. I heard a rumor that there was something big going on, so we looked up her record. That girl has been bad enough to satisfy the cravings of a dozen girls and several thousand men. She has not been satisfied to burn the candle of life at both ends, but has turned herself into a pin wheel of fireworks. She was diseased in every way—morally, spiritually, and physically. In one more year, she would have rested quietly on a marble slab at the Morgue. Now she is quite different in every way. Her talk, her thoughts, her life. She does not even paint anymore, and I’ll tell the world that she is okay without it. One of the most beautiful dames I ever saw, and don’t forget that the men all know it. And what does she tell them? ‘If you want me to think kindly about you, go and make someone happy’—Pollyanna stuff. I have seen her, and she talks freely. To use a good word of the psychologists, she has insight. She knows she has changed, and gives you the credit. Says that one night you gave her a hundred dollars and a shot in the arm, and since then she has been different.”

  “Talked too much,” commented Ackerman. “Changed her, but could not take the eternal feminine out of her. Listen to me. Ackerman is not my real name. I am leaving the city tonight, destination unknown. You can give me all the publicity you want, but you cannot identify me. You find out all you can from Miss Moore, and then you interview a girl by the name of Sally Fanning, and two men: Harry Wild, the newsboy, and John Jones, a retired gentleman. They all live in this house. Get their story. Study it, but please do not put it in The Purple Flash. Write it as it should be written, and sell it to the Times or the Sun. If it is true, they will pay you for it.”

  “Where are you going, and what is your real name?”

  “No!” said the inventor, returning to his packing.

  The reporter looked at him, and she smiled.

  “You are probably a wise man,” she commented, “but you do not know very much about newspapers and nothing at all about The Purple Flash. We are like the Canadian mounted police. We always get our man. If the news you represent is as important as I think it is, we will get it. As far as the Times is concerned, I used to work for it. The Flash tripled my salary to get me. Now will you tell me what I want to know?”

  “No. It is a two letter word beginning with an ‘N’ and ending with an ‘O’, and it means negation. Use it in your cross-word puzzle, and let me finish packing.”

  “Did you, or did you not, on the night of the third, give a dose of serum to four people?”

  “I did. I told you that. I told you their names and the fact that they lived in this house.”

  “What was the serum? What was it supposed to do to them?”

  “I have no answer.”

  “Did you, just before I came in, give a dose of the same serum to a little boy carried by Hiram Smith, the Wolf of Wall Street?”

  “I have no answer.”

  “Let me tell you something. Two days after you gave Harry Wild his serum, The Purple Flash knew about it. We paid him to keep quiet, at least as far as reporters are concerned. We have had six men on the case ever since. We know all about the Fanning girl, and her asthma, and John Jones, and his cardiac trouble. We have made an independent X-ray examination of Harry Wild. In the office, there are over twenty thousand words ready for release. We know that the newsboy told Hiram Smith, and that Smith had him examined. We know about Smith’s son. And here is something to make you smile. We know who you are. Don’t ask how. None of your friends betrayed you, but you left a trail that was easy to track.

  “Five of the greatest scientists in the United States have been under the employ of The Purple Flash for the last week studying the four people you gave the injections to. It is their opinion that, if you have a serum that will work on them, you have something that will revolutionize the entire social and economic status of the human race. We are not interested in the first four, except in regard to their relation to the next four million or four hundred million. If you have what they think you have, it is too great a secret for one man to hold. It should belong to the nation; in fact, one of the men said it should belong to the world.

  “Suppose you should die? Or develop insanity? Don’t you see what a priceless secret would die with you? And how are you going to use it? What price are you going to ask for it? Are you going to give it free, like the man who discovered insulin did? What will it do besides curing asthma, heart disease, and making twisted bones straight? Will it change the personality, make bad people good?”

  Ackerman shook his head.

  “I do not know. That is one of the things that I came to New York to find out, but you people are making it too uncomfortable for me. I hate publicity. It never occurred to me that any paper, especially one like yours, would go into a mystery so thoroughly. Why did you do it?”

  “To increase our daily circulation, which is already over five million. Come on, Mr. Sidney Biddle, give me a break and talk.”

  “No. But you tell the owner of The Purple Flash that when the time comes for me to talk, when I have something to say, I promise to give you the first interview. But not now, not till I am sure.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The Recidivists

  Sidney Biddle, alias Harry Ackerman, went back to his laboratory, and worked and waited for two weeks. At the end of that time, he received the reports promised by Hiram Smith. In addition, there were several preliminary reports concerning the Smith boy. It was all very interesting, and made Biddle feel that he had every reason to be confident in his discovery.

  But he was too much of a scientist to be a gambler. He knew that the experiment had to be repeated a hundred, a thousand, even a million times, before the results could be taken as definite and conclusive. Yet he was sure that the time had come for w
ork on a large scale. He went to see the Governor of Ohio, a man who was so devoted to the interests of his people that he was lovingly called Welfare Watkins. The Executive listened for over an hour without interrupting, and then said:

  “I suppose you have had sufficient vision into this matter to understand what it means to the nation if you are correct?”

  “I think so.”

  “It must be thought over very carefully. The consequences are so revolutionary that I am afraid I will not sleep tonight thinking of them. Do you realize that with one step you are going to wipe out the employment of large masses of our citizens? Some of these groups have carried on an honorable existence for centuries. They will no longer be needed. Of course, taxes will be lowered at once, but unemployment will be increased. It is a complex subject. Perhaps we had better wait till your experiments show that you are absolutely correct. Of course, I will give you permission to go to our prison. In fact, I will go with you. The Warden is a fine fellow, but he has been a penologist so many years that at times I am afraid he has ceased to remain a humanitarian. A personal command from me will be better than a letter. Have you enough of the medicine with you?”

  “Yes. Seven hundred doses. I understand that the prison population is slightly over fourteen hundred. I wanted to hold half of them as control cases.”

  “We will go at once. I will tell my secretary to announce that I have left the State for Washington. We will make the trip to Farview in my personal airplane.”

  Two hours later, a group of men sat in the Warden’s office at Farview. These men were the Governor, the Inventor, the Warden, the prison Physician, and the prison Chaplain. The Governor introduced Sidney Biddle as a scientist who wished to make an experiment on the prison population. He ended by asking the Warden to make a statement concerning his charges.

  “Farview was built,” the Warden replied, “to take care of the criminal who could not be reformed. There are fourteen hundred and thirty here at present, and we have room for twenty more. It is the only prison in America that is not overcrowded. The men average twenty-four years of age, a population of mere boys. Every one has had at least four convictions for felony or worse, and not a man here is up for less than twenty years. Sixty-five percent are here for life. They have committed every crime known to the criminal records of mankind. Some of their crimes are absolutely new. You see, with the advent of the machine and the electrical age, new ways of being bad developed, and that gave my boys an advantage, even over Nero. So far we have never had a riot. We may have one the next hour.”

  “How is their health. Doctor Yardly?” asked Biddle.

  “As good and as bad as would be expected. Syphilis, epilepsy, tuberculosis, hold up the death rate. A lot of them are insane or near it. You see, they have no hope, and that makes it hard for them to want to live. We try to make their life worth while, give them sports and talkies; but I guess that only adds to the mental irritation of their hopelessness.”

  “Their mental attitude is difficult to combat,” interrupted the Chaplain. “You see, Mr. Biddle, they have been so poisoned by their past life that many of them have not only lost hope in the present, but also in the future. A large number of them do not believe in a God.”

  The Governor frowned.

  “In a way, I do not blame them. Are your records up to date? Do you know your men, Warden?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then pick out seven hundred for Mr. Biddle. I suppose the mere giving of that many intravenous injections will not take long, but at the same time I think we had better call on the Department of Health for a few physicians to help. I am going to send in thirty-six men. They ought to be here tomorrow. Take care of them. I will have a stenographer for each man. One of my private secretaries will be here to organize the office force, and help with the records. Let me see, I want twelve physicians, twelve psychiatrists, six lawyers, three hard-headed business men, and three of the clergy from different denominations. Get me the Department of Health on the phone. Also the State University. Do we need anyone else, Mr. Biddle?”

  “There should be some psychologists, though most of that fraternity are so technical that I am afraid they will block the work; and there should be someone to take charge.”

  “I am going to do that,” replied the Governor.

  “Welfare Watkins,” said the Warden, with a smile.

  “I’ll take that for what it is worth, Warden,” retorted the Governor, “and it may be that it is not very much. I am the Governor of this state, and the people trust me. This experiment of Mr. Biddle’s is too important for me to ignore. I will spend most of the month with you as your guest. Will you stay, Mr. Biddle?”

  “No. Not after the seven hundred doses are given. I do not want to influence the findings of your experts in any way. All I want is a written opinion from you personally at the end of the month.”

  The Warden frowned.

  “Just what do you expect, Mr. Biddle?” he asked.

  “I will answer that question for him;” interrupted the Governor. “He has talked this over with me, and we are not going to tell anyone what he does expect. As far as you know, it is simply a new treatment for ringworm of the feet. What we are going to do is to have a short, concise record of these men now, and a month after they have their injection. There will be a statement concerning each prisoner. Complete, but concise. If a man is blind, I want a short, nontechnical statement as to why he is blind, and the condition of his eyes at the end of thirty days. All you have to do, Warden, is to run this prison as you always have and furnish every possible help to these specialists.”

  “I will have to have more guards. The prisoners won’t understand it, and whenever anything happens they do not understand they get ugly. I ought to have at least fifty additional men.”

  “Okay,” agreed the Governor. “You understand their psychology better than I do. Now suppose we get busy. I want to go over your files with Mr. Biddle. There are some of these prisoners I am interested in, and I want to get all of them on the list.”

  After three days of hard work, Sidney Biddle left the prison. His part of the work was done. There was nothing to do but to wait for the end results.

  CHAPTER 6

  Hiram Smith’s Boy

  Biddle went from Ohio back to New York. He wanted to see the newsboy and Sally, the scrub, but changed his mind at the last moment and went right down into Wall Street to the office of Hiram Smith. There he was met by the usual obstacles confronting anyone who wants to see, without appointment, one of the financial overlords of America.

  * * * *

  “Your name, please, and your business. Have you an appointment? Perhaps you had better fill out this card,” purred the manicured and marcelled doll at the outer barricade.

  The inventor smiled, and wrote on the card.

  “YOU OWE ME SOMETHING; BUT, AFTER ALL, NOT PUBLICITY. HOW IS JUNIOR? I WOULD LIKE TO SEE HIM. ACKERMAN.”

  “See what happens,” he advised the doll. “Better rush it through.”

  In less than a minute, the Wolf himself came out, barking.

  In less than another minute, the two men were in the most private of all the private offices in the building.

  “Well?” asked the inventor.

  “I should say so!” laughed the Wolf. “You would not believe me; but the boy is actually walking, and using his hands. Of course the specialists say that the impossible is happening, but suppose it is? What difference does it make so long as it happens? It is my opinion, though of course I am not a doctor, that in another two weeks he will be just as good as the average boy of his age. And you ought to see the wife. She is ten years younger. Wait till she sees you. Talk about a woman worshipping a man! I have had lots of cause for jealousy. Can you come out to the house? I hope you did not register at a hotel, but if you did, it makes no difference. You cannot stay anywhere but with me.”

  “You seem to be excited over it,” laughed the scientist.

  “After all, he
is my boy. Think of the mess I was in. Only son, hopeless cripple. Finest woman in the world my wife, and actually thinking of divorcing her and marrying some other woman just so I could have a real man-child; and then you came along and make a healthy, robust lad out of a twisted monstrosity. Of course I am excited. The last time I had him tested, the psychologist told me the lad had an intelligence quotient of one hundred and thirty-five. And you ought to see him run and jump. Learning to swim. Come on, and let’s go. No more work for me today.”

  The two men went aboard the private speed boat that was the pride of the Wolf and which he used on his daily trips to the city. Thirty minutes up the Hudson, and they arrived at a wharf. From there they walked to the house. It was a Revolutionary relic hidden in a forest of oaks. Nearing the lawn, they saw a man, a woman, and a boy, playing ball. The boy, recognizing Smith, came running.

  “That’s him,” explained the Wolf. “Look at those legs! No wonder the orthopedic surgeons were flabbergasted.”

  “Looks like a real boy to me!” exclaimed Biddle.

  By this time, the adults had caught up with the boy. Biddle looked at them. He felt he ought to know them, but somehow he could not identify them. The man smiled, and then he knew him.

  “Harry Wild! And can this be Miss Fanning?”

  “Call me Sally,” cried the woman.

  Biddle looked at the woman—a wonder-woman, beautiful, radiant, glowing with health, vitality, happiness. He looked at the man, as fine a man as any male would want to be.

  “Are you really Harry and Sally?” he asked.

  “None other,” laughed the Wolf. “They are living out here with us. They meant too much to me to let them stay in the city. The other two are here also.”

  “And we are all well!” cried Sally.

  “Well in every way!” agreed Harry.

  “And the kid is doing fine. We are teaching him everything.”

  “You teaching him?” asked the inventor, doubting his ears.

  “We are indeed. You see, something happened to our minds as well as our bodies. Of course Harry and Mr. Jones knew a lot to start with, but Valencia and I never had much of a chance to learn so we are just reading all we can, and it is no trouble at all to remember everything we read. You would be surprised if you knew just what the four of us are doing for you.”