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Based on an old cartoon
Roy Glashan's Library
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RGL e-Book Cover©
Based on an old cartoon
Amazing Stories, February 1946, with "Anything You Say, Dear"
"This is a very potent hypnotic tube," said Dr. Browne. "It will give you courage."
HERBERT PRENTISS stepped backwards through the open door, slipped on the thin layer of ice that covered the porch and fell flat on his back. He lifted his head and stared mildly up to his wife.
"But, dear...?"
Jaunice Prentiss was visible for an instant in the open door. Then the door slammed. In that instant, she had ample time to shout at him.
"And stay out until you can learn lo treat me civilly."
Herbert Prentiss sat up slowly. He rubbed the back of his thinly-covered scalp, brushed his felt hat and placed it back on his head. It was very cold out here and he hadn't had time to don his overcoat. The door was opening again.
Something hit Herbert Prentiss, covering his head and shoulders. Jaunice's voice boomed again.
"And this time I mean it."
Herbert Prentiss sighed and a loving smile lighted his pale face. Jaunice really did love him. Hadn't she been thoughtful enough to throw out his coat also?
He arose a little unsteadily and put it on. The sleeves were frayed and the collar was slightly on the thin side. He was grateful, however, for its protection.
Just what had caused the quarrel this morning Herbert Prentiss wasn't sure. They quarreled every morning. There had been a time, many years ago, when Mr. Prentiss might have done something about the way he was pushed around by his wife. With the years, Herbert had grown thin, had adapted a defeatist attitude and learned to accept what came with a smile. He was thankful that it wasn't worse.
His attitude did much to make Jaunice worse. She lived on her fat and allowed Herbert to carry all the burdens. Herbert Prentiss was a henpecked husband. He was more than that; he was pecked, clawed, chewed and digested. Nothing remained but his thin, nervous body and a mind that definitely wasn't his own.
PRENTISS rounded the house slowly and entered the garage. It
was heated and he often came out here after one of Jaunice's
spells. The garage this morning was not deserted. Pete was
working at the tool bench pounding with a big hammer and trying
to drown out the horrible sound by singing loudly. He was singing
the Volga Boatman and with the steady, rhythmic beat of the
hammer, the effect was terrific. Pete was Jaunice's brother. He
had come to live with them ten years ago. He had overstayed the
visit, but was thinking about leaving almost any day; or so he
had told Herbert every week for the past decade.
Pete looked up as the chill blast of winter wind followed Herbert into the shop. He stopped singing and a scowl wrinkled over his ruddy face.
"Shut that door. It costs money to heat this joint. Besides, I can't stand cold air."
"Good morning, Peter," Herbert said. "It's a nice morning."
He longed to remind Peter that it was his coal that burned so merrily in the little cast-iron stove. That Peter had the privilege of leaving at any time. He shuddered at the thought of expressing himself in this manner.
"It ain't a good morning," Pete said, and started to pound again. "It's a lousy morning and I ain't in a good mood. Go peddle your papers."
Pete started singing again. All he knew was the first line. He sang it with such deep feeling that one imagined he had spent many years along the banks of that famous river.
"The Volga Boatman—
The Volga bo-aatmaaan—
Ya—ya—yaaa—Ya—ya—ya."
Herbert Prentiss was discouraged. Also, he was growing impatient. Something stirred inside of him. A bit of the beast that had remained caged for so long it could only snarl weakly, tightened his fists. He sighed again. He just couldn't tell people what he thought.
Discouraged by continued attempts on Pete's part to add something to the boatman song, Herbert opened the door and backed out. He stopped outside long enough to see Pete turn and scowl in his direction. Then the hammer was thumping steadily again and Pete was singing his lament. Herbert Prentiss turned and timidly approached the outside entrance to the basement.
JOEY, Herbert's teen-aged son looked up from the model
airplane and his eyes narrowed at the sight of his father coming
slowly down the stairs by way of the outside entrance. One could
almost see the hair on the back of Joey's neck sit up. One could
sense that if he were a torn cat, his back would arch in fury.
Joey slipped off the stool on which he had been sitting, pushed
the model plane far back on the bench in a gesture of defense and
turned on his father. His hands sought his hips and poised there,
fists clenched.
Herbert Prentiss advanced half way across the ash-strewn floor of the basement and stopped. His eyes were a bit watery from the cold air outside.
"Good morning, Joey," he said. It was a timid greeting. He never knew how Joey would react.
"You heel," Joey said with great feeling.
"Huh?" Herbert's mild eyes opened wider.
"I said, you heel," Joey repeated. "I heard you and Mom fighting up stairs. I heard you break her heart and leave her crying."
That couldn't be entirely accurate, Herbert thought. Jaunice wasn't crying at all. She was running the vacuum in the living room and her heavy voice rang loudly from the cellar stairs. She was singing.
"Shoo-shoo, baby," her voice, if one could call it that, was giving out. "ShooooShoooo BaaaBeeee."
Joey got down to business.
"You ain't hiding down here," he said. "I'll call Ma and tell her where you are."
That strange, animal sensation was creeping down Herbert Prentiss' spine again. His hands tingled. He felt as though he wanted to swing a palm with all his strength straight at Joey's pink ears.
"Joey," he said, but with no amount of effort could he inject any anger into his voice. "I thought I told you to carry out the ashes."
For an instant he thought Joey was going to hit him.
Joey's chest swelled proudly.
"I'm working on a B27," he said, as though that answered everything.
Herbert looked puzzled,
"But the ashes?"
Joey grinned.
"I'm in the war effort," he said. "You better go to work on them ashes, Pop. I might call Ma anytime, and where'd you be then?"
HERBERT PRENTISS almost did what his son suggested. He did go
so far as to pick up one bucket, breathed the choking gray ashes
up his nostrils, stumbled under the weight of the load and
dropped it again.
Joey, already busy on his model airplane, turned with a smirking grin and chuckled.
Herbert Prentiss stood very still for almost a minute. Upstairs, Jaunice was well into the fifth round of Shoo-Shoo-Baby. Her voice carried genuine pathos. Pete's hammer accompanied her from the garage. Herbert Prentiss dusted his coat carefully and a gleam came into his eyes. It was a very small gleam, but a gleam never-the-less. He turned and walked slowly up the steps to the frozen world beyond the cellar doors.
His footsteps lagged as he went toward the garage. No, probably Jaunice would want the car this afternoon. He would walk.
He moved slowly toward the street. As he reached the sidewalk, his footsteps quickened. Once out of sight of the house, he broke into a nervous trot. Two blocks away, he was running. His cheeks were flushed and the animal gleam in his eyes had grown more pronounced.
DOCTOR HOWARD BROWNE (the last name, he told his patients must
be spelled with an "e") looked up from behind his heavy, rimless
glasses and smiled as Herbert Prentiss was ushered in by a nurse
in spotless white.
Doctor Browne (spelled with an "e") arose and leaned across the desk.
"Why, hello Herbert."
Herbert Prentiss accepted the hand timidly and winced as the Doctor squeezed.
"Good afternoon," he said and stared around him at the alarming array of enameled tables and cabinets. He sat down on the edge of a leather chair and continued to look at the doctor. His lips twitched but he couldn't force himself to confide in the white coated man behind the desk. He and Howard Browne had been friends for years, but that was at the Moose Hall. Cloaked in the white of his profession, Browne presented a new and alarming problem.
"What seems to be the matter, Herbert?"
Herbert Prentiss fidgeted.
"I—I don't feel so good," he said.
The doctor looked concerned.
"But you're in sound health," he insisted. "Only last month I looked you over for that insurance policy. The company thinks you're a good risk."
Herbert shivered. A good risk indeed. That was about what his family thought of him. A fine risk for insurance. A man who would live and work and bring home a pay check for a good many years yet.
"I'm—'I'm frustrated," he said suddenly. He blurted it out, as though it was a horrible disease.
For a full minute the Doctor said nothing. Little crows feet gathered in the corners of his eyes and his forehead wrinkled. He found something on the floor behind the desk that demanded his immediate attention. When his head came into sight again, he had regained his composure and his face had smoothed out to professional calmness.
"Herbert," he said, "would you mind repeating what you just said?"
Herbert shrugged.
"Maybe that isn't the correct word," he said. "I'm frustrated—you know-henpecked—shoved around."
Doctor Browne frowned thoughtfully. He fiddled with a small, pen-shaped tube that was clipped inside his coat pocket. He pulled it out and placed it on the desk.
"I see," he said it in a long breath, as though it was a very learned admission. Then he continued to stare at Herbert.
"Tell me about it," he said at last. "All about it."
HERBERT PRENTISS blushed.
He sank back into his chair like a small boy who is going to talk to the Principal.
"My wife picks on me," he said, then added hurriedly, "and her brother and even Joey. Joey's my son."
Doctor Browne nodded.
"I guess I love them," Herbert said. "That is, all but Pete. No one could love Pete."
The Doctor shook his head. No—no one could love Pete.
"If—if I could just get the courage," Herbert said miserably, "I would tell Pete to go to hell."
He stopped, smiled wistfully and added:
"I guess I'd rather tell Pete to go to hell than anything else in the world."
"Why don't you," Doctor Browne suggested.
Herbert Prentiss turned very pale.
"Oh no, I couldn't do that. I'm afraid to. I'm—I'm a mouse."
Doctor Browne had treated cases like this before. Being a family doctor had brought a lot of strange cases his way. Cases that dealt with scientific healing of the mind, as well as of the body. Healing that worked miracles.
"It has been my experience, Herbert," he said, "that once a man says what's on his mind he feels better."
No, he admitted to himself that wasn't the right approach. Herbert Prentiss had to act like a man. To do that, he had to feel like a man. Herbert had to have something, a prop, to keep him from falling over. Doctor Browne's eyes noted the silver tube that he had absently dropped on the desk top. His eyes lighted up. He picked up the tube and held it gently between his firm fingers. He stared straight into Herbert Prentiss' eyes.
"I can cure you," he said, "completely."
Herbert Prentiss sprang from his chair. He leaned across the desk, both hands against the glass top, his eager face lighted for the first time with a grateful smile.
"You don't know what—what this means to me."
Doctor Browne nodded.
"I think I do," he said. "I'm going to introduce to you the powerful forces of the hypnotic tube."
"Hypnotic tube?"
Herbert's eyes lighted on the slim metal shaft between Browne's fingers. He reached for it and a look of awe flooded his pinched face.
"You mean?"
The Doctor nodded.
"That tube has the power to rule anyone," he said. "But—you have to know how to use it."
Herbert Prentiss sat down patiently to learn the complicated job in using the hypnotic tube.
MR. PRENTISS usually entered his home via the rear door. Today
he walked boldly up the front steps and stopped to examine the
place where he had landed on his back just two hours ago. He
listened for the sounds that would tell him where the various
members of the household had located themselves.
Pete was still in the garage. He had worn out the Volga Boatman and was murdering Sweet Adeline. Jaunice, evidently making herself beautiful in her room, was hard at work on Nobody's Sweetheart Now.
Herbert Prentiss approached the door and pushed it open. He went in and wiped his feet on the hall rug. At once he sensed a change upstairs. Jaunice's song halted abruptly. He didn't. He went quickly up the stairs, pausing only long enough to toss his snowy overcoat in the center of the front room. He turned at the top of the stairs, took a long run and slid through the bedroom door leaving heel-marks on the polished hardwood floor.
Jaunice Prentiss was on her feet. Her double-chinned face was almost purple as she stood there with a thin robe between her and fresh air. She looked to Herbert as though he was something out of a horror story by Poe. Herbert's hand found his pocket and felt for the comforting, cool shaft of the hypnotic tube.
"Hello," he said, and for the first time in years, his voice conveyed the light airy touch of a man completely satisfied with himself.
Jaunice continued to stare as though she couldn't believe her eyes. Two super sensitive ears had told her that her hall rug was smootched with dirty snow, her carpet was wet with his coat and the hall was black with shoe marks.
"You worm," she said, as she usually did.
"Now Jaunice," Mr. Prentiss said, and didn't back away from her.
"You," she started again, and thought better of it. "How many times have I told you...?"
"Shut up," Herbert said calmly.
Jaunice Prentiss took one step forward and the floor shook under the impact.
"What did you say?"
"Shut up." Herbert repeated and whipped the hypnotic tube from his pocket. He aimed it straight at her.
"Herbert—have you gone crazy?"
IT WORKED. The tube worked. A new strength coursed through
him. He held on to the tube grimly.
"You have been pushing me around for a long time," he said. "Now it's my turn. A man's home is his castle."
He stopped and smiled triumphantly. He had heard that a long time ago at lodge meeting and had smiled a little grimly at the time. Now he meant every word of it.
The tube was still at work. Jaunice faltered and the expression on her face changed. She backed away from him.
"Herbert," she asked wonderingly. "Are you insane?"
"You're repeating yourself," he said, and put a nasty edge on his voice. "No, I haven't gone crazy. I'm just about ready to become the boss around here myself. After this, you're taking orders from me. Do I make myself clear."
"Yes," she admitted quietly, "I guess...."
"If you're good," he went on, "you can go to the matinee on Saturday like you have been letting me do. After this, you keep quiet and let me do the talking."
Jaunice sat down limply on the bed. A soft light came into her eyes. The color drained from her face and she looked almost attractive.
"Oh, Herbert," she said. "You're a man again."
Herbert Prentiss forgot his anger. He forgot the hypnotic tube and it fell to the floor and rolled across the carpet.
"Gee," he said. "I guess you're pretty nice after all."
"JOEY!"
Joey Prentiss continued work on the model plane without looking up or acknowledging the call from the stairs.
"JOEY!"
Joey made an impatient motion with his shoulders and stood up.
"What you want?"
He wasn't inclined to answer his father, but suppose the old man had something good on the ball. Maybe he'd better find out.
"Come up here."
"Nuts," Joey said, and sat down again. He listened, though, wondering at the firmness of his father's footsteps as Herbert came down the stairs. He pretended to work as his father approached him from the rear.
Crack.
"Ouch!" Joey whirled around, his hand grasped one ear. His eyes opened wide.
"Hey," he shouted. "What's the idea of hitting me?"
Herbert Prentiss was panting. His cheeks were pale. He faced Joey with feet well apart, a shining tube in his hand. He pointed the tube straight at Joey.
"I've taken enough of this business from you, young man," Herbert said with dignity.
Joey continued to feel his ear with his fingertips, wondering how the old man had ever dared to do it.
"I'll tell Ma on you," he said. "She'll pound the hell out of you."
CRACK.
Herbert's palm connected with Joey's other ear.
"That's enough," he said sternly.
"Now get to work on those ashes."
Joey wanted to call Ma, but something told him he'd better not. Pop meant it. He meant it because he had a wild, satisfied gleam in his eyes. Joey looked around carefully, calculated the ash job would take at least an hour, and groaned.
"I gotta go to the show this afternoon," he said.
"You gotta do nothing of the kind," Herbert said. "You can carry out the ashes. After that, clean the furnace out and wash the floor. When you get done, eat your supper and go to bed."
Herbert turned away. He didn't wait to see Joey go to work. He had another important job in the garage.
WHEN he opened the garage door, Joey was already struggling
with the first basket, trying to slide it up the outside stairs.
Herbert had no fear of Jaunice interfering with Joey's work.
Jaunice had a new understanding with Herbert. She was resting
now, and wondering what would happen next.
Pete turned and scowled again as Herbert Prentiss came in. Pete tossed a half scuttle of coal into the stove and slammed the door with a bang.
"You back again?"
He said it as though he was greeting a worm that had just crawled from under a rock.
Herbert didn't answer. He walked across the garage and turned off the electric light over the bench.
Pete looked up, put down his hammer and squinted at Herbert.
"I'm working here," he said.
It didn't seem to make any difference.
Herbert crossed to the stove, closed the damper and tossed a bucket of ashes on top of the coals. He closed the stove. The heat started to die very rapidly.
"Hey," Pete said. "I said I'm working here."
Herbert turned and pointed the tube at Pete.
"Not any more, you're not," he said mildly. "You're packing your bags. You're getting out of my house before night."
Pete drew himself up to his full six feet.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" he asked in an amused voice. "You little pip-squeak. My sister will take care of you. I'm staying with her, not you. I guess I work for my keep."
"I guess you don't," Herbert said. "Now get out."
PETE thought it over carefully. His smile was gone. Some of
his courage had failed him.
"Look here, Herby, if I've done anything to...?"
"You haven't," Herbert said calmly. "You haven't done a thing, not since you came here and started eating my food ten years ago. Now get out."
Pete turned and started slowly for the door. Herbert Prentiss stared down at the hypnotic tube which he still held firmly gripped in his hand. He wondered if its power would hold out. Would he dare? Yes. By the Cods, he would.
He planted a carefully aimed kick in the direction of Pete's pants. His tall brother-in-law yelped loudly, reached the door and turned. All his calmness had vanished. He was thoroughly cowed.
"You'll be sorry," he said, "kicking out your best pal like this."
For the first time he seemed to notice the tube in Mr. Prentiss' hands. A puzzled frown crossed his face.
"What you keep pointing that flashlight at me for?"
Mr. Prentiss felt a red hot flash zizzling up his spine.
Pete saw Herbert Prentiss' face darken and moved outside hurriedly.
"I'm going,", he said. "I'm going right now. Don't hit me."
He turned and started to run toward the house.
Herbert Prentiss continued to stand in the garage door. Across the lawn Joey was working swiftly to cut down the pile of ashes in the basement. Upstairs, Jaunice slept the sleep of the conquered and Pete was already packing his bags in the little back bedroom. Mr. Prentiss could see him through the window.
Herbert Prentiss smiled down at the powerful hypnotic tube. Pete had called the tube a flashlight. Curiously Herbert Prentiss examined it more closely. He screwed off the end and a small battery fell out into his hand. His hand started to shake. He unscrewed the other end. A reflector and a bulb slipped into his fingers. The shaking that started with his hand worked gradually up his arm and affected his entire body.
Pete was right. It was a flashlight.
All the marvelous strength he had found was in his own mind. Everything he had done he could have done years ago if he had been able to tap that great storehouse of courage hidden inside him.
Mr. Prentiss stood there, thinking of what he had been able to do with the help of an ordinary flashlight.
"Amazing," he whispered softly. "It really is...."
Herbert Prentiss fainted.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.