With Wilson gone the two of them tackled the controlling device, labored and swore over it. But finally it was completed.
Slumped in chairs, utterly exhausted, they looked proudly at it.
"With that,” said Russ, “we can take an object and transport it any place we want. Not only that, we can pick up any object from an indefinite distance and bring it to us."
"What a thing for a lazy burglar,” Greg observed sourly.
Worn out, they gulped sandwiches and scalding coffee, tumbled into bed.
* * *
The outdoor camp meeting was in full swing. The evangelist was in his top form. The sinners’ bench was crowded. Then suddenly, as the evangelist paused for a moment's silence before he drove home an important point, the music came. Music from the air. Music from somewhere in the sky. The soft, heavenly music of a hymn. As if an angels’ chorus were singing in the blue.
The evangelist froze, one arm pointing upward, with index finger ready to sweep down and emphasize his point. The sinners kneeling at the bench were petrified. The congregation was astounded.
The hymn rolled on, punctuated, backgrounded by deep celestial organ notes. The clear voice of the choir swept high to a bell-like note.
"Behold!” shrieked the evangelist. “Behold, a miracle! Angels singing for us! Kneel! Kneel and pray!"