"Here, perhaps?" he suggested. "I invented this. And the airplane, and the automobile, and—oh, ever so many things. You'll find my name inscribed on every one.
"I," he announced modestly, "am Pat Pending—the greatest inventulator of all time."
Miss Thomas stared at me goggle-eyed.
"Is he?" she demanded. "I mean—did he?"
I nodded solemnly.
"Not only those, but a host of other marvels. The bacular clock, the transmatter, the predictograph—"
Miss Thomas turned on Pat a gaze of fawning admiration. "How wonderful!" she breathed.
"Oh, nothing, really," said Pat, wriggling.
"But it is! Most of the things brought here are so absurd. Automatic hat-tippers, self-defrosting galoshes, punching bags that defend themselves—" Disdainfully she indicated the display collection of screwball items we call our Chamber of Horrors. "It's simply marvelous to meet a man who has invented things really worth while."
Honestly, the look in her eyes was sickening. But was Pat nauseated? Not he! The big goon was lapping it up like a famished feline. His simpering smirk stretched from ear to there as he murmured, "Now, Miss Thomas—"