Evening star. [volume], September 08, 1946, Page 10, Image 87

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
“Hey, Potter,” a student yelled, "Dr. Staley wants to see you in astrophysics lab. On the double!”
Irma And The Atom
BY FREDERICK HAZLITT BRENNAN
Illustrated by Dorothy Monet
It was the fight of the
century, between science
and Miss Brown. You’ve
guessed it — science lost!
A Short Story
IT was too bittej that a girl like she had to
fall in love with a wonderful fella like
Eugene and have him mixed up with atomic
energy*— let alone having to contend with
Dr. Ph D. Professor Staley that Eugene
worked for as an electrician.
Some girls would of stood in awe of college
profs and this hubba-hubba about somepin
called nuclear physics,- whatever that may
mean; but Irma Brown was head waitress
and practically manager of the Campus Nook.
Such a position brings you face to face with
the facts of life, and no smarty-pants engi
neering student or highbrow prof at Mt. Wil
son College can deceive you. Mr. Professor
Stinky Staley was purely and simply making
Eugene work all hours of the day and night
for his own selfishness.
“Look, hon,” Irma said to Eugene, “the
war’s been over more than a year. Can’t Dr.
Staley just relax a little and let you off maybe
one day a week?”
Eugene Potter was one of those quiet, shy
fellas that hafta be protected from theirself.
Eugene stared at his knuckles that were alia
time getting banged up making repairs in
Dr. Lily Finger Staley’s lab. Irma felt her
heart aching for him. A fella like Eugene —
why, he’ll let some big-wordsy college prof
bamboozle him and work him to death and
lead him around by the nose.
"I can’t squawk to Doc,” Eugene said.
"He works harder and longer'n any of us.
About eighteen hours a day, he averages.”
“Why does he hafta work so long now?”
“We-ell, he’s interested.”
“Making more A-bombs?”
“Course not. Something new.”
“But, honey, why should you have to work
practically sixteen hours and not one real
day off a week that we can count on?”
Eugene gulped the rest of his coffee. Irma
always made the coffee for him herself.
“You sure know how to make coffee, Red,”
Eugene observed, glancing at the clock.
The bitter thing about being in love with
a fella like Eugene, is that you can’t talk
things out frankly, as engaged persons should.
Eugene was doing work that was still top
secret, and he had the kind of square chin
that made you realize not even wild horses
could force him to tell anything he did not
choose to reveal.
“Okay, Mr. Sphinx,” Irma said. “Will it
be next week or next year that I get to see
you for ten minutes again?”
"You know I come down the hill every sin
gle chance, Red,” he said. “Fact is, I’m hid
ing out from Doc right this minute.”
“And what does Professor Staley want
with you, I’ll ask. at quarter-past nine, p.m.?”
‘‘We’re shooting cloud chamber stuff. I’m
the only juicer Doc will trust to rig the new
circuit. It’s a big deal — no kidding!”
“Okay, okay,” Irma said quickly. “Will
you let me help you clean up the lab tomor
row? I’m off at two o’clock on Thursday —
or do you remember?”
He squeezed Irma’s hand. "I’ll call you.”
"In the morning?”
“Yeah, unless — no — in the morning.”
“Thanks. Good night, hon.”
So you hadta stand there in the Campus
Nook and watch him leave — with his shoul- .
ders sagging a little from too much work
and too little sleep. But you could think a few
things about Dr. Simon Degree Ph.D. Staley.
Him and his cycle-trons and Phi Delta
Gamma ravs and blah-blah-blah.
The solemn truth was — Dr. Stinky Staley
wasn’t satisfied with helping to blow up two
Jap cities and win the war. Though Eugene
had never so much as hinted at it himself,
a girl can’t work in the Campus Nook, chuck
full of engineering students, and miss the gos
sip. Dr. Mighty Brain Staley was trying to
invent a motor that ran with atoms instead
of gasoline or electricity. And what was so
patriotic or important about that? Why did
poor Eugene hafta —
"Hey, Irma, did you ask him?”
“Huh?”
"Eugene — about Sunday.”
“Oh — that. No dice. He’s got to work.”
It was bitter. You’re in love with a fella
and he truly loves you, but you got to cover
up in front of Helen, your best girl friend.
There was cynicism and pity in Helen’s very
knowing voice: "So he can’t go with I and
Joe and you to Long Beach Sunday?”
“He wants to, Helen — but Dr. Staley
won’t let him off.”
“Well, it’s your life, darling. But if I was
you I’d begin to add up the score.”
“The score? Maybe I’m dumb, but — ”
Her face tightening with sudden decision,
Helen blurted: “Staley’s got the Indian sign
on that boy friend of yours. Eugene thinks
he’s Alfred P. Einstein or somepin. Joe’s been
after me a long, time to wise you up to
Staley — ”
“I don’t need — ”
“Oh, yes you do, Irm. Joe sells gas to a lot
of Staley’s students. They say he brags about
being a bachelor and wants every fella that
works for him to stay single all his whole life.
Get it, darling?”
Irma was so horrified and revolted that for
a minute she couldn’t say anything. Helen
went on: “If you’re serious about Eugene,
you better make him take his old job back in
Culver City. He can get almost twice the
dough at M-G-M, and work union hours.
Staley’s a bad influence over Eugene.”
Irma laughed bravely: “The day I beg any
man to marry me — toss an A-bomb in my
lap!”
Helen shrugged. “A redhead with purple
eyes and your figure? Nobody said you hadta
beg. But in this Staley deal you better get
tough. Eugene is kinda cute in a he-man
way, you know. Well — so long — but think
about it.”
Up to that moment, Irma had been utterly
unpersonal concerning Dr. High and Mighty
Staley. He was Eugene’s boss and paid him as
much as the college said it could afford;
Eugene liked the work and pretended not to
mind the long hours — so what? It isn't a
girl’s duty to make trouble between her
future husband and his employer. Dr. Staley
seldom entered the Campus Nook — he didn’t
know Irma from Adam and Eve. All that
Irma actually knew about Dr. Big Bachelor
Staley was that he invariably ordered crackers
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