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secrets. They'd play with it—at a little more sophisticated level than himself, to be sure—until its power gave out, and then dissect it into microscopic slides and peer and poke at it, and like as not end up knowing little or nothing more than at the first testing.

These general considerations also made Ronald shy away from the plan of finding and privately enlisting the services of some brilliant young technician or engineering student, or offering such a person a partnership in the battery.

Perhaps he could sell the battery? No, any substantial businessman would be fearfully suspicious of such an offer. He'd think it was the Keeley motor over again or some perpetual motion crank or the powder that added to water makes gasoline. Ronald could arrange brilliant demonstrations, of course, but the more brilliant they were the more his prospect would suspect trickery. Experts would have to be called in and he would be back once more with the proper authorities, who would be snatching at his battery with rapacious fingers.

Suppose he were to find a millionaire gambler and bet him that—Ronald irritably shook his head. In the first place he didn't know any such gamblers or how to approach them and in the second place the last thing a Bet-a-million Gates would bet on was something that looked like a castiron certainty to win. The maker of such a tempting offer would be bound to have something up his sleeve.

Maybe he could use the battery to put on a magic or spiritualist act? Causing something to float without wires, or levitating small objects in a slightly darkened room for the edification of wealthy crackpots like his aunt—do the Poltergeist bit. Now that, Ronald told himself, was cutting his problem down close to size. The trouble was, of course, as with so many other plans, that the battery would eventually run down and probably sooner than later. But more than that, the magic-act plan ran up against the objection that Ronald simply wasn't even a passable third-rate showman or conman and knew it very well.

Sitting in his chilly hole-over-a-garage and gazing out at the darkening garden—for a full twenty-four hours had passed since his great discovery—Ronald gave an irritated little sigh. His utter incapacity as a showman and conman was an old sore point with him.