am obliged to you for that drink. It is rather remarkable--"
"Headache all gone, hey?"
"Almost entirely. I wish you would give me the name of the medicine. I
will make a memorandum--"
"Nix," said Klinker.
"Nix? Nux I have heard of, but ..."
"Hold on," laughed Klinker, as he saw Queed preparing to enter Nix in
his note-book. "That ain't the name of it, and I ain't going to give it
to you. Why, that slop only covers up the trouble, Doc--does more harm
than good in the long run. You got to go deeper and take away the cause.
Come back here and I'll show you your real medicine."
"I'm afraid--"
"Aw, don't flash that open-faced clock of yours on me. That's your
trouble, Doc--matching seconds against your studies. It won't take a
minute, and you can catch it up eating supper faster if you feel you got
to."
Queed, curious, as well as decidedly impressed by Klinker's sure
knowledge in a field where he was totally ignorant, was persuaded. The
two groped their way down a long dark passage at the rear of the shop,
and into a large room like a cavern. Klinker lit a flaring gas-jet and
made a gesture.
"The Mercury Athletic Club gymnasier and sporting-room."
It was a basement room, with two iron-grated windows at the back. Two
walls were lined with stout shelves, partially filled with boxes. The
remaining space, including wall-space, was occupied by the most curious
and puzzling contrivances that Queed had ever seen. Out of the glut of
enigmas there was but one thing--a large mattress upon the floor--that
he could recognize without a diagram.
"Your caretaker sleeps here, I perceive."
Klinker laughed. "Look around you, Doc. Take a good gaze."
Doc obeyed. Klinker picked up a "sneaker" from the floor and hurled it
with deadly precision at a weight-and-pulley across the room.
"There's your medicine, Doc!"
Orange-stick in mouth, he went around like a museum guide, introducing
the beloved apparatus to the visitor under its true names and uses, the
chest-weights, dumb-*bells and Indian clubs, flying-rings, a
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