Poppa Needs Shorts

Given valid data, you can reach completely wrong conclusions. But given a wrong conclusion, you can still get a right answer!
Illustrated by John Schoenherr
Little Oley had wandered into forbidden territory again—Big Brother Sven's ham shack. The glowing bottles here were an irresistible lure, and he liked to pretend that he knew all there was to know about the mysteries in this room.
Of course, Sven said that not even he knew all of the mysteries, though he admitted he was one of the best ham operators extant, with QSOs from eighteen countries and thirty-eight states to his credit.
At the moment, Sven was busily probing into an open chassis with a hot soldering iron.
Short's in here some place, he muttered.
What makes shorts, Sven? Oley wasn't so knowledgeable but what he would ask an occasional question.
Sven turned and glared down. What are you doing in here? You know it's a Federal Offense for anybody to come into this room without I say so?
Momma and Hilda come in all the time, and you don't say so. Oley stood firm on what he figured were legal grounds. What makes shorts?
Sven relented a little. This brother had been something of a surprise to him, coming along when Sven was a full ten years old. But, he reflected, after a few years maybe I should get used to the idea. Actually, he sort of liked the youngster.
Shorts, he said, speaking from the superior eminence of his fourteen years to the four-year-old, is when electricity finds a way to get back where it came from without doing a lot of hard work getting there. But you see, electricity like to work; so, even when it has an easy way, it just works harder and uses itself up.
This confused explanation of shorts was, of course, taken verbatim, despite the fact that Oley couldn't define half the words and probably couldn't even pronounce them.