“Speak for yourself. I’m not going to the Moon.”
“I am.”
“Hummph! Delos, granting that we have gotten rich by speculating on your hunches, it’s a steel-clad fact that if you keep on gambling you lose your shirt. There’s an old saw about the pitcher that went once too often to the well.”
“Damn it, George—I’m going to the Moon! If you won’t back me up, let’s liquidate and I’ll do it alone.”
Strong drummed on his desk top. “Now, Delos, nobody said anything about not backing you up.”
“Fish or cut bait. Now is the opportunity and my mind’s made up. I’m going to be the Man in the Moon.”
“Well . . . let’s get going. We’ll be late to the meeting.”
As they left their joint office, Strong, always penny conscious, was careful to switch off the light. Harriman had seen him do so a thousand times; this time he commented. “George, how about a light switch that turns off automatically when you leave a room?”
“Hmm—but suppose someone were left in the room?”
“Well. . . hitch it to stay on only when someone was in the room—key the switch to the human body’s heat radiation, maybe.”
“Too expensive and too complicated.”
“Needn’t be. I’ll turn the idea over to Ferguson to fiddle with. It should be no larger than the present light switch and cheap enough so that the power saved in a year will pay for it.”
“How would it work?” asked Strong.
“How should I know? I’m no engineer; that’s for Ferguson and the other educated laddies.”
Strong objected, “It’s no good commercially. Switching off a light when you leave a room is a matter of temperament. I’ve got it; you haven’t. If a man hasn’t got it, you can’t interest him in such a switch.”
“You can if power continues to be rationed. There is a power shortage now; and there will be a bigger one.”
“Just temporary. This meeting will straighten it out.”
“George, there is nothing in this world so permanent as a temporary emergency. The switch will sell.”
Strong took out a notebook and stylus. “I’ll call Ferguson in about it tomorrow.”
Harriman forgot the matter, never to think of it again. They had reached the roof; he waved to a taxi, then turned to Strong. “How much could we realize if we unloaded our holdings in Roadways and in Belt Transport Corporation—yes, and in New World Homes?”
“Huh? Have you gone crazy?”
“Probably. But I’m going to need all the cash you can shake loose for me. Roadways and Belt Transport are no good anyhow; we should have unloaded earlier.”
“You are crazy! It’s the one really conservative venture you’ve sponsored.”
“But it wasn’t conservative when I sponsored it. Believe me, George, roadtowns are on their way out. They are growing moribund, just as the railroads did. In a hundred years there won’t be a one left on the continent. What’s the formula for making money, George?”
“Buy low and sell high.”
“That’s only half of it. . . your half. We’ve got to guess which way things are moving, give them a boost, and see that we are cut in on the ground floor. Liquidate that stuff, George; I’ll need money to operate.” The taxi landed; they got in and took off.
The taxi delivered them to the roof of the Hemisphere Power Building they went to the power syndicate’s board room, as far below ground as the landing platform was above—in those days, despite years of peace, tycoons habitually came to rest at spots relatively immune to atom bombs. The room did not seem like a bomb shelter; it appeared to be a chamber in a luxurious penthouse, for a “view window” back of the chairman’s end of the table looked out high above the city, in convincing, live stereo, relayed from the roof.
The other directors were there before them. Dixon nodded as they came in, glanced at his watch finger and said, “Well, gentlemen, our bad boy is here, we may as well begin.” He took the chairman’s seat and rapped for order.
“The minutes of the last meeting are on your pads as usual. Signal when ready.” Harriman glanced at the summary before him and at once flipped a switch on the table top; a small green light flashed on at his place. Most of the directors did the same.