This data I do not pretend to understand. I don't intend to try. I am merely an impartial observer. To harness this power would be a boon to civilization. I can see a small truck full of equipment bearing the sign:
POLTERGEIST MOVING COMPANY
if you can only unravel the information contained in my data. You, as a physicist, surely must be able to explain the manifestation in terms that satisfy all and sundry. Once you decide what makes, I'll be interested. Until that date I am stumped, admit it, and happy that I am able to hand the problem to one who by all the evidence, has the personality and character that will not permit these pages of painstaking data to molder in the dust.
Please—old fellow, tell me what's with a poltergeist.
And don't refer vaguely to space warps or fourth dimensional animals. That's strictly for Corny Stories or Vulturesome Tales.
Interestedly,
Tom Lionel,
Consulting Engineer.
P.S. That junk you bought made it possible to make these measurements. Surely the same stuff should enable you to figure out the answer. You and your monomolecular films.
You and your monomolecular films, Thomas snorted.
That was the start. Then, for eight solid weeks, the laboratory lights burned by night, and the machinery turned at all and odd hours of the clock. Measurements were conducted on all sorts of things; including at one instance, the astronomical data pertaining to planetary line-up of the solar system. That one was stamped with a large reject sign; not only it didn't apply, but it didn't make sense either. Trips to the library were frequent, and many's the ancient tome that Thomas read until his eyes burned.