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Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction May 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
GONE FISHING
By JAMES H. SCHMITZ
_There is no predictable correlation between intelligence and ethics, nor is ruthlessness necessarily an evil thing. And there is nothing like enforced, uninterrupted contemplation to learn to distinguish one from another...._
Illustrated by Krenkel
* * * * *
Barney Chard, thirty-seven--financier, entrepreneur, occasionalblackmailer, occasional con man, and very competent in all theseactivities--stood on a rickety wooden lake dock, squinting against thelate afternoon sun, and waiting for his current business prospect togive up the pretense of being interested in trying to catch fish.
The prospect, who stood a few yards farther up the dock, rod in onehand, was named Dr. Oliver B. McAllen. He was a retired physicist,though less retired than was generally assumed. A dozen years ago hehad rated as one of the country's top men in his line. And, whiledressed like an aging tramp in what he had referred to as fishingtogs, he was at the moment potentially the country's wealthiestcitizen. There was a clandestine invention he'd fathered which hecalled the McAllen Tube. The Tube was the reason Barney Chard had cometo see McAllen.
Gently raising and lowering the fishing rod, and blinking out over thequiet water, Dr. McAllen looked preoccupied with disturbingspeculations not connected with his sport. The man had a secrecy bug.The invention, Barney thought, had turned out to be bigger than theinventor. McAllen was afraid of the Tube, and in the forefront of hisreflections must be the inescapable fact that the secret of theMcAllen Tube could no longer be kept without Barney Chard'sco-operation. Barney had evidence of its existence, and didn't reallyneed the evidence. A few hints dropped here and there would have madeMcAllen's twelve years of elaborate precaution quite meaningless.
Ergo, McAllen must be pondering now, how could one persuade Mr. Chardto remain silent?
But there was a second consideration Barney had planted in the oldscientist's mind. Mr. Chard, that knowledgeable man of the world,exuded not at all by chance the impression of great quantities ofavailable cash. His manner, the conservatively tailored business suit,the priceless chip of a platinum watch ... and McAllen needed cashbadly. He'd been fairly wealthy himself at one time; but since hehad refrained from exploiting the Tube's commercial possibilities, hiscontinuing work with it was exhausting his capital. At least thatcould be assumed to be the reason for McAllen's impoverishment, whichwas a matter Barney had established. In months the old man would beliving on beans.
Ergo again, McAllen's thoughts must be running, how might one notmerely coax Mr. Chard into silence, but actually get him to comethrough with some much-needed financial support? What inducement,aside from the Tube, could be offered someone in his position?
Barney grinned inwardly as he snapped the end of his cigarette out onthe amber-tinted water. The mark always sells himself, and McAllen waswell along in the process. Polite silence was all that was necessaryat the moment. He lit a fresh cigarette, feeling a mild curiosityabout the little lake's location. Wisconsin, Minnesota, Michiganseemed equally probable guesses. What mattered was that half an hourago McAllen's Tube had brought them both here in a wink of time fromhis home in California.
* * * * *
Dr. McAllen thoughtfully cleared his throat.
"Ever do any fishing, Mr. Chard?" he asked. After getting over hisfirst shock at Barney's revelations, he'd begun speaking again in thebrisk, abrupt manner Barney remembered from the last times he'd heardMcAllen's voice.
"No," Barney admitted smiling. "Never quite got around to it."
"Always been too busy, eh?"
"With this and that," Barney agreed.
McAllen cleared his throat again. He was a roly-poly little man; overseventy now but still healthy-looking, with an apple-cheeked,sunburned face. Over a pair of steel-rimmed glasses his faded blueeyes peered musingly at Barney. "Around thirty-five, aren't you?"
"Thirty-seven."
"Married?"
"Divorced."
"Any particular hobbies?"
Barney laughed. "I play a little golf. Not very seriously."
McAllen clicked his tongue. "Well, what do you do for fun?"
"Oh ... I'd say I enjoy almost anything I get involved in." Barney,still smiling, felt a touch of wariness. He'd been expecting questionsfrom McAllen, but not quite this kind.
"Mainly making money, eh? Well," McAllen conceded, "that's not a badhobby. Practical, too. I ... whup! Just a moment."
The tip of the slender rod in his left hand dipped slightly, and sixtyfeet out beyond the end of the old dock a green and white bobber begantwitching about. Then the bobber suddenly disappeared. McAllen liftedthe rod tip a foot or two with a smooth, swift motion, and paused.
"Hooked!" he announced, looking almost childishly pleased.
The fish on the far end of the line didn't seem to put up much of astruggle, but the old man reeled it in slowly and carefully, givingout line from time to time, then taking it back. He seemed completelyabsorbed. Not until the fish had been worked close to the dock wasthere a brief minor commotion near the surface. Then McAllen was downon one knee, holding the rod high with one hand, reaching out for hiscatch with the other. Barney had a glimpse of an unimpressive greenand silver disk, reddish froggy eyes. "_Very_ nice crappie!" McAlleninformed him with a broad smile. "Now--" He placed the rod on thedock, reached down with his other hand. The fish's tail slapped thewater; it turned sideways, was gone.
"Lost it!" Barney commented, surprised.
"Huh?" McAllen looked around. "Well, no, young man--I _turned_ himloose. He wasn't hooked bad. Crappies have delicate lips, but I use abarbless hook. Gives them better than a fighting chance." He stood upwith the rod, dusting the knees of his baggy slacks. "Get all theeating fish I want anyway," he added.
"You really enjoy that sport, don't you?" Barney said curiously.
* * * * *
McAllen advised him with the seriousness of the true devotee to try itsome time. "It gets to you. It can get to be a way of living. I'vebeen fishing since I was knee-high. Three years ago I figured I'dbecome good enough to write a book on the subject. I got morearguments over that book--sounder arguments too, I'd say--than aboutany paper I've published in physics." He looked at Barney a moment,still seriously, and went on. "I told you wetting a line would calm medown after that upset you gave me. Well, it has--fishing is as good aform of therapy as I know about. Now I've been doing some thinking.I'd be interested ... well, I'd like to talk some more about the Tubewith you, Mr. Chard. And perhaps about other things too."
"Very gratifying to hear that, doctor," Barney said gravely. "I didregret having to upset you, you know."
McAllen shrugged. "No harm done. It's given me some ideas. We'll talkright here." He indicated the weather-beaten little cabin on the bankbehind Barney. "I'm not entirely sure about the California place.That's one reason I suggested this trip."
"You feel your houseman there mightn't be entirely reliable?"
"Fredericks unreliable? Heavens no! He knows about the Tube, ofcourse, but Fredericks _expects_ me to invent things. It wouldn'toccur to him to talk to an outsider. He's been with me for almostforty years."
"He was," remarked Barney, "listening in on the early part of ourconversation today."
> "Well, he'll do that," McAllen agreed. "He's very curious about anyonewho comes to see me. But otherwise ... no, it's just that in thesedays of sophisticated listening devices one shouldn't ever feel toosure of not being overheard."
"True enough." Barney glanced up at the cabin. "What makes you sosure of it here, doctor?"
"No reason why anyone would go to the trouble," McAllen said. "Theproperty isn't in my name. And the nearest neighbor lives across thelake. I never come here except by the Tube so I don't attract anyattention."
He led the way along the dock. Barney Chard followed, eyesreflectively on the back