The Fourth-Dimensional Demonstrator

Pete Davidson was engaged to Miss Daisy Manners of the Green Paradise floor show. He had just inherited all the properties of an uncle who had been an authority on the fourth dimension, and he was the custodian of an unusually amiable kangaroo named Arthur. But still he was not happy; it showed this morning.
Inside his uncle’s laboratory, Pete scribbled on paper. He added, and ran his hands through his hair in desperation. Then he subtracted, divided and multiplied. But the results were invariably problems as incapable of solution as his deceased relative’s fourth-dimensional equations. From time to time a long, horselike, hopeful face peered in at him. That was Thomas, his uncle’s servant, whom Pete was afraid he had also inherited.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said Thomas tentatively.
Pete leaned harassedly back in his chair.
“What is it, Thomas? What has Arthur been doing now?”
“He is browsing in the dahlias, sir. I wished to ask about lunch, sir. What shall I prepare?”
“Anything!” said Pete. “Anything at all! No. On second thought, trying to untangle Uncle Robert’s affairs calls for brains. Give me something rich in phosphorus and vitamins; I need them.”
“Yes, sir,” said Thomas. “But the grocer, sir—”
“Again?” demanded Pete hopelessly.
“Yes, sir,” said Thomas, coming into the laboratory. “I hoped, sir, that matters might be looking better.”
Pete shook his head, regarding his calculations depressedly. “They aren’t. Cash to pay the grocer’s bill is still a dim and misty hope. It is horrible, Thomas! I remembered my uncle as simply reeking with cash, and I thought the fourth dimension was mathematics, not debauchery. But Uncle Robert must have had positive orgies with quanta and space-time continua! I shan’t break even on the heir business, let alone make a profit!”
Thomas made a noise suggesting sympathy.