was inept with his hands to a rare degree; but because he could manufacture in a twinkle a one-note mouth organ out of pea pod, make a flat pebble skip ten times on the surface of a pond, shadowgraph with his knuckles a rabbit (complete with blinking eye), and perform a number of other tame tricks that Russians have up their sleeves, he believed himself endowed with considerable manual and mechanical skill. On gadgets he doted with a kind of dazed, superstitious delight. Electric devices enchanted him. Plastics swept him off his feet. He had a deep admiration for the zipper. But the devoutly plugged-in clock would make nonsense of his mornings after a storm in the middle of the night had paralyzed the local power station. The frame of his spectacles would snap in mid- bridge, leaving him with two identical pieces, which he would vaguely attempt to unite, in the hope, perhaps, of some organic marvel of restoration coming to the rescue. The zipper a gentleman depends on most would come loose in his puzzled hand at some nightmare moment of haste and despair.
And he still did not know that he was on the wrong train.
OR WHY PROFESSOR WADDEMS NEVER BROKE A HUNDRED
I am telling this story to the public just as I told it in the grand jury room; the district attorney having given me a carbon copy of my sworn testimony.
QUESTION: Professor Waddems, when did you first notice that Dr. Green seemed to harbor animosity towards you?
ANSWER: It was when we got to the second hole.
QUESTION: Professor, you may go ahead and tell the jury about it in your own words.