Bill Stephens came forward with further explanation. "You see, sir, Ted
and I are inventors. We make, well--things. We've been working on this
invention in our basement and it seems to be a success."
"We don't quite know why it's a success," Ted said, "but it is."
"We'd like to demonstrate it for you."
"Well, go ahead and demonstrate."
Ted raised the box and aimed it horizontally at nothing in particular.
He pressed a black button. There was an odd whirring noise. He took his
hand off the button and lowered the box.
"What are you waiting for?" Blair growled.
"Nothing. That's it. I've made the hole."
"Are you two crazy? What kind of a fool trick--?"
Ted reached down and took a pencil off the desk. "May I borrow this?"
Without waiting for permission, he put the pencil carefully into the
place he'd pointed the box. Half the pencil disappeared. He took his
hand away. The part of the pencil still in sight didn't come with it. It
stayed where it was, lying in thin air, horizontally, with no apparent
support.
H. Joshua Blair goggled and turned three shades whiter. "Wha-wha-what
the hell!"
"And now, if you'll try to move the pencil, the demonstration will be
complete."
* * * * *
Like a man in a trance, Blair got up from his desk and grasped the
pencil. It wouldn't move. He got red in the face and threw all his
weight on it. It would neither pull nor push. It stayed where it was.
Finally Blair backed away from the thing. He leaned on his desk and
panted.
"You see," Ted said, "The hole goes into the fourth dimension. There's
no other explanation. And the fourth dimension holds solider than
concrete."
Old Blair's head was spinning, but business instinct came quickly to his
rescue. "What happens," he asked, "if something in the third dimension
is in the way?"
"It gets out of the way," Bill said.
Ted demonstrated. He trained the box on the visible remains of the
pencil. It vanished.