"Look, Prexy," I said, "sit down and take the load off your brains. You didn't hire me, and you can't fire me. I report to the Advisory Council. Now, listen to me. This man is the greatest find since Pharoah's daughter went snipe hunting in the bulrushes. He knows stuff and things."
"Stuff?" wheezed the college president. "Things?"
"Ask him. Anything at all. He's got more answers than a quiz program."
MacDowell stiffened like a strychnine victim. "I refuse," he proclaimed stentoriously, "to lend myself to such a display. The dignity of my office—"
Helen MacDowell had been staring at Hank with frank curiosity.
Now she said, "Papa, why don't you follow Jim's suggestion? Ask Mr. Cleaver a question."
That got him. "Very well," he said. "I will ask a single question. But if he fails to answer it—"
He had a dirty look in his eyes. I said, "Serve it straight, Doc. No tricky place names or technical phrases."
"I shall merely ask our rustic friend," said MacDowell stiffly, "to explain to us the fundamental laws of motion as established by Sir Isaac Newton." And he glared at Hank and me malevolently.
Merely! I looked at Hank, and the blank expression on his pan gave me the queasies. He said wonderingly.