"Turnips," he said mournfully, "is hell. It don't matter where you
plant 'em or how careful. They never do what you expect. Oh, you mean
about the University? Well, I don't guess it would do no harm. I'll go
if you want me to."
"I do," I told him with savage satisfaction. "All my life I've wanted
to see what would happen when a man with plain, ordinary horse-sense
crossed gray matter with a bunch of animated reference books. You're
the party of the first part. Look, Hank--suppose you were out hunting
with another guy. You see the flash of his gun; ten seconds later you
hear the boom. How far away from him are you?"
"A game, mebbe?" asked Hank. He pondered for a minute while I waited,
wondering if I'd cleaned the machine the first time or if this were a
perpetual jackpot.
Then, "How cold is it?" asked Hank.