Mr. Bondy shuddered. “Marek, this is frightful!”
“It is indeed,” said Marek sorrowfully. “Gradually I began to see that it wasn’t gas, but the Absolute. The symptoms were terrible. I could read people’s thoughts, light emanated from me, I had a desperate struggle not to become absorbed in prayer and preach belief in God. I tried to clog the Karburator up with sand, but I was seized with a bout of levitation. That machine won’t let anything stop it. I don’t sleep at home nowadays. Even in the factory there have been several serious cases of illumination among the workmen. I don’t know where to turn, Bondy. Yes, I’ve tried every possible isolating material that might prevent the Absolute from getting out of the cellar. Ashes, sand, metal walls, nothing can keep it back. I’ve even tried covering the cellar with the works of Professor Krejči, Spencer, Haeckel, and all the Positivists you can think of: would you believe it, the Absolute goes calmly through even that stuff! Even papers, prayer-books, Lives of the Saints, Patriotic Songbooks, university lectures, bestsellers, political treatises, and Parliamentary Reports, present no obstacle to it. I’m simply desperate. You can’t shut it up, you can’t soak it up. It’s mischief let loose.”
“Oh, but why?” said Mr. Bondy. “Does it really mean such mischief? Even if all this were true … is it such a disaster?”
“Bondy, my Karburator is a terrific thing. It will overturn the whole world, mechanically and socially. It will cheapen production to an unbelievable extent. It will do away with poverty and hunger. It will some day save our planet from freezing up. But, on the other hand, it hurls God as a byproduct into the world. I implore you, Bondy, don’t underrate what it means. We aren’t used to reckoning with God as a reality. We don’t know what His presence may bring about—say, socially, morally, and so on. Why, man, this thing affects the whole of human civilization!”
“Wait a minute!” said Bondy thoughtfully. “Perhaps there’s some charm or other that would exorcise it. Have you called in the clergy?”
“What kind of clergy?”
“Any kind. The denomination probably makes no difference in this case, you know. Perhaps they could do something to stop it.”
“Oh, that’s all superstition!” burst out Marek. “Leave me alone with your parsons! Catch me giving them a chance to make a miraculous shrine out of my cellar! Me, with my views!”
“Very well,” declared Mr. Bondy. “Then I’ll call them in myself. You never can tell … Come, it can’t do any harm, anyway. After all, I haven’t anything against God. Only He oughtn’t to interfere with business. Have you tried negotiating with Him in a friendly spirit?”
“No,” admitted the engineer.
“That was a mistake,” said Bondy dryly. “Perhaps you could come to some agreement with Him. A proper formal contract, in something like this style: ‘We guarantee to produce You discreetly and continuously to an extent to be fixed by mutual agreement; in return for which You pledge yourself to refrain from any divine manifestations within such and such a radius from the place of origin.’ What do you think—would He consider these terms?”
“I don’t know,” answered Marek uneasily. “He seems to have a decided inclination in favour of becoming independent of matter once more. Still, perhaps … in His own interests … He might be willing to listen. But don’t ask me to do it.”
“Very well, then!” Bondy agreed. “I’ll send my own solicitor. A very tactful and capable fellow. And then again … er … one might perhaps offer Him some church or other. After all, a factory cellar and its surroundings are rather … well … undignified quarters for Him. We ought to ascertain His tastes. Have you tried yet?”
“No; it would suit me best to flood the cellar with water.”
“Gently, Marek, gently. I’m probably going to buy this invention. You understand, of course, that … I’ll send my experts over first … we’ll have to look into the business a little further. Perhaps it’s only poisonous fumes, after all. And if it actually turns out to be God Himself, that’s all right. So long as the Karburator really works.”
Marek got up. “And you wouldn’t be afraid to install the Karburator in the M.E.C. works?”
“I’m not afraid,” said Bondy, rising, “to manufacture Karburators wholesale. Karburators for trains and ships. Karburators for central heating, for houses, offices, factories, and schools. In ten years’ time all the heating in the world will be done by Karburators. I’ll give you three percent, of the gross profits. The first year it will only be a few millions, perhaps. Meanwhile you can move out, so that I can send my men along. I’ll bring the Suffragan Bishop up tomorrow morning. See that you keep out of his way, Rudy. I don’t like seeing you about here in any case. You are rather abrupt, and I don’t want to offend the Absolute to start with.”
“Bondy,” Marek whispered, horror-stricken. “I warn you for the last time. It means letting God loose upon this world!”
“Then,” said G. H. Bondy, with dignity, “He will be personally indebted to me to that extent. And I
