“No wonder they turned him down. No degree at all. You can't get anywhere in science like that.”
Sam said, “The courts rejected his suit but he got a certain amount of support here and there. Peter Voss, over at the university, claims he's one of the great intuitive scientists, whatever that is, of our generation.”
“Who said that?”
“Professor Voss. Not that it makes any difference what he says. Another crackpot.”
After Sam's less than handsome face [pg 025] was gone from the phone, Larry walked over to the bar with his empty glass and stared at the mixer for several minutes. He began to make himself another flip, but cut it short in the middle, put down the ingredients and went back to the phone to dial Records again.
He went through first the brief and then the full dossier on Professor Peter Luther Voss. Aside from his academic accomplishments, particularly in the fields of political economy and international law, and the dozen or so books accredited to him, there wasn't anything particularly noteworthy. A bachelor in his fifties. No criminal record of any kind, of course, and no military career. No known political affiliations. Evidently a strong predilection for Thorstein Veblen's theories. And he'd been a friend of Henry Mencken back when that old nonconformist was tearing down contemporary society seemingly largely for the fun involved in the tearing.
On the face of it, the man was no radical, and the term “crackpot” which Sam had applied was hardly called for.
Larry Woolford went back to the bar and resumed the job of mixing his own version of a rum flip.
But his heart wasn't in it. The Professor, Susan had said.