"Division of Materiel and Supply," he continued in staccato, as if he
were imitating a machine gun.
I waited. It was obvious he wasn't through yet. He hesitated, and I
could see his Adam's apple travel up above the knot of his tie and back
down again as he swallowed. The pink flush deepened suddenly into
brilliant red and spread all over his face.
"Poltergeist Section," he said defiantly.
"_What?_" The exclamation was out before I could catch it.
He tried to glare at me, but his eyes were pleading instead.
"General Sanfordwaithe said you'd understand." He intended to make it
matter of fact in a sturdy, confident voice, but there was the undertone
of a wail. It was time I lent a hand before his forces were routed and
left him shattered in hopeless defeat.
"You're West Point, aren't you?" I asked kindly.
It seemed to remind him of the old shoulder-to-shoulder tradition. He
straightened still more. I hadn't believed it possible.
"Yes, sir!" He wanted to keep the gratitude out of his voice, but it was
there. It did not escape my attention that, for the first time, he had
spoken the habitual term of respect to me.
"Well, what do you have here, Lieutenant Murphy?" I nodded toward the
Swami who had been wavering between a proud, free stance and that of a
drooping supplicant. The lieutenant, whose quality had been recognized,
even by a civilian, was restored unto himself. He was again ready to do
or die.
"According to my orders, sir," he said formally, "you have requested the
Pentagon furnish you with one half dozen, six, male-type poltergeists. I
am delivering the first of them to you, sir."
Sara's mouth, hanging wide open, reminded me to close my own.
So the Pentagon was calling me on my bluff. Well, maybe they did have
something at that. I'd see.
* * * * *
"Float me over that ash tray there on the desk," I said casually to the
Swami.
He looked at me as if I'd insulted him, and I could anticipate some
reply to the effect that he was not applying for domestic service. But
the humble supplicant rather than the proud and fierce hill man won. He
started to pick up the ash tray from Sara's desk with his hand.
"No, no!" I exclaimed. "I didn't ask you to hand it to me. I want you to
TK it over to me. What's the matter? Can't you even TK a simple ash
tray?"
The lieutenant's eyes were getting bigger and bigger.
"Didn't your Poltergeist Section test this guy's aptitudes for
telekinesis before you brought him from Washington all the way out here
to Los Angeles?" I snapped at him.
* * * * *
The lieutenant's lips thinned to a bloodless line. Apparently I, a
civilian, was criticizing the judgment of the Army.
"I am certain he must have qualified adequately," he said stiffly, and
this time left off the "sir."
"Well, I don't know," I answered doubtfully. "If he hasn't even enough
telekinetic ability to float me an ash tray across the room--"
The Swami recovered himself first. He put the tips of his long fingers
together in the shape of a sway-backed steeple, and rolled his eyes
upward.
"I am an instrument of infinite wisdom," he intoned. "Not a parlor
magician."
"You mean that with all your infinite wisdom you can't do it," I accused
flatly.
"The vibrations are not favorable--" he rolled the words sonorously.
"All right," I agreed. "We'll go somewhere else, where they're better!"
"The vibrations throughout all this crass, materialistic Western
world--" he intoned.
"All right," I interrupted, "we'll go to India, then. Sara, call up and
book tickets to Calcutta on the first possible plane!" Sara's mouth had
been gradually closing, but it unhinged again.
"Perhaps not even India," the Swami murmured, hastily. "Perhaps Tibet."
"Now you know we can't get admission into Tibet while the Communists
control it," I argued seriously. "But how about Nepal? That's a fair
compromise. The Maharajadhiraja's friendly now. I'll settle for Nepal."
The Swami couldn't keep the triumphant glitter out of his eyes. The
sudden worry that I really would take him to India to see if he could TK
an ash tray subsided. He had me.
"I'm afraid it would have to be Tibet," he said positively. "Nowhere
else in all this troubled world are the vibrations--"
"Oh go on back to Flatbush!" I interrupted disgustedly. "You know as
well as I that you've never been outside New York before in your life.
Your accent's as phony as the pear-shaped tones of a Midwestern garden
club president. Can't even TK a simple ash tray!"