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Updated: May 3, 2025
But at the bottom, no ball. I stared wildly at it for a full minute before I focused my eyes enough to see, at the bottom, a thousand little gray fragments. And immediately it came to both of us at the same time. A poor conductor, the ball had used up all its available heat on that final impact. Like a golfball that has been dipped in liquid air and dropped, it had smashed into thin splinters.
I did not like straight rum, but I preferred it to Farnsworth's rather imaginative cocktails. "I'll show you, John," he said. He opened the box and I could see that it was packed with some kind of batting. He fished in this and withdrew a gray ball about the size of a golfball and set the box on the mantel. "And that's the eraser?" I asked. "Yes," he said.
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