"Well, Mr. Mallory," said Pat, "do you believe me now?"
"Get me down out of here!" I howled. "You know I can't stand high places!"
"You now weigh less than ten pounds—"
"Never mind the statistics. I feel like a circus balloon. How do I get down again?"
"Turn the knob on the cane," advised Pat, "to your normal weight. Careful, now! Not so fast!"
His warning came too late. I hit the deck with a resounding thud, and the cane came clattering after. Pat retrieved it hurriedly, inspected it to make sure it was not damaged. I glared at him as I picked myself off the floor.
"You might show some interest in me," I grumbled. "I doubt if that stick will need a liniment rubdown tonight. Okay, Pat. You're right and I'm wrong, as you usually are. That modern variation of a witch's broomstick does operate. Only—how?"
"That dial at the top governs weight," explained Pat. "When you turn it—"
"Skip that. I know how it is operated. I want to know what makes it work?"
"Well," explained Pat, "I'm not certain I can make it clear, but it's all tied in with the elemental scientific problems of mass, weight, gravity and electric energy. What is electricity, for example—"