"William Morrison - Disappointment" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morrison William)

 "How does that help salt stick to nuts?"
"As I've said, that requires further theoretical study."
Perry turned on his heel, and talking to himself in the manner of his own son-in-law, left the room.
Stewart Payne was an excellent family man. Three years later, while dandling his youngest grandson
on his knee and watching Angela prepare the others for bed, Horton Perry was forced to admit that. And
Angela had every right to be proud of her children, although she seemed to be most especially proud of
her husband, who had become a full professor long before the end of the expected ten-year period, and
was now earning $5600 a year.
"He'll probably get the Physical Society Prize, the Chemical Society Prize, and the Prize of the
Technological Society. His surface-hardening method has so many possible applications that it's
incredible."
"We still salt nuts the same way," said Perry stubbornly.
"Did you see what the Herald-Tribune wrote about him? And the St. Louis Post-Dispatch? and the
London Times? And the Moscow Pravda?"
"He took that five hundred dollars of mine under false pretenses."
"Nonsense, Father, he's been working on your problem all the time. Somewhat indirectly, I'll admit.
But he hasn't forgotten you."
"Hasn't he? He looks at me as if he'd never seen me in his life."
"It isn't that, Father. He's ashamed to look you straight in the eye because he pities you."
"Pities me?" stammered the astounded salted-nut king.
"Yes, he thinks you're so impractical."
Perry exploded, his new teeth shooting out of his mouth and bouncing off the wall. His grandson
almost fell off his lap and began to wail, Angela shrieked, the other children joined their brother, and in
the excitement, Perry managed to get a few repressed thoughts off his chest, somewhat mangled as he
tried to articulate them with toothless gums, but to the point nevertheless.

PERRY had to admit later, however, their expression did him no real good. For the situation that had
aroused his fury continued to exist, and even to grow worse. It was not until many years later, when he
spoke to his great-great-great grandson, Alan, a sensible young man who after many generations had
inherited the Perry business sense, that he felt he was talking to some one who understood him.
Alan at this time was a lad of twelve, alert, sharp-eyed, and with a mind that to the still vigorous
Horton Perry seemed as sharp as a razor.
"I don't see great-great-grandfather Payne very often," he said. "But when I do, he always seems to
have his head in the clouds."
"Right, my lad," agreed Horton Perry. "He never sees the trees for the woods." He thought that over,
and said, "Or maybe it's the other way around. But at any rate, he doesn't."
"Great scientist, though, Ancestor."
"That's what they say. But they can't convince me."
"You're prejudiced, Ancestor."
"Not at all. I'm merely a practical man, and I judge by results. We've gone forward a great deal in the
past few generations. We mature earlier—"
"At twelve," observed Alan. "I'm mature now."
"Almost," admitted old Perry. "We live longer—two hundred years or more, on the average, thanks
to halting the onset of tissue and organ degeneration. We stay healthier during those two hundred years.
We produce houses and buildings that are practically everlasting, we travel to Mars and Venus, we have
weapons and tools that will shatter any known material, as well as materials that will resist any tools but
those processed by the same method. We can build structures that will resist an atomic explosion that
takes place inside them. We've turned the miracle into the commonplace so often that it's the
commonplace that is now a miracle."
"That sounds good, Ancestor," said Alan respectfully. "What does it mean?"