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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Paper and pencil, you kep callin for, Mr Weener an you that elpless you couldnt old up your own and. You said you ad to write a book the Istory of the Grass. To purge yourself, you said. Lor, Mr Weener, doctors don't prescribe purges no more that went out before the first war."
During the return to Southampton she constantly clapped me on the back and shouted, "It's over, Weener; it's all over now." "But it isnt over," I protested. "Your spray hadnt the slightest direct effect on the Grass." "Oh, that. That's nothing. A mere impediment. A matter of time only." "Time only! Good God, do you realize the Grass is halfway through Ireland?
"Mr Weener," he said, "I have been empowered to make you an incredible tender for your stock. Not only will the boardofdirectors of Consolidated Pemmican return to you six times the amount of your investment, but they will assign to you, over and above this price, 49 percent of the company's votingstock. It is a magnificent and unparalleled bid and I sincerely advise you to take it."
You will do this daily and conscientiously, Weener, on pain of instant dismemberment, to say nothing of crucifixion and the death of a thousand cuts." "The Weekly Ruminant and the Honeycomb have found little pieces of mine, written without special instructions, suitable for their columns," I mentioned defensively.
I pressed my palms into the back of the chair. I, Albert Weener, was a capitalist. The money involved already seemed negligible, for it was a mere matter of a few thousand dollars, but to own what amounted to a controlling interest, even in a defunct or somnolent corporation, made me an important person. Only a reflex made me gasp, "I will take immediate delivery."
"I am supporting three laboratories devoted exclusively to antigraminous research and anyway the rest of the world is amply protected by the oceans." She removed the toothpick in order to laugh unpleasantly. "Once a salesman always a salesman, Weener. Lie to yourself, deny facts, brazen it out.
I'm selling that is, I'm going to sell the product you invented to make plants eat anything." "Oh. Weener yes." She produced the toothpick and scratched her chin with it. "About the Metamorphizer." She paused and rubbed her elbow. "A mistake, I'm afraid. An error." Aha, I thought, a new deal. Someone's offered to back her.
Now indeed the grass menace would be taken seriously. The next day's paper had news of more immediate concern to me. The governor had appointed a special committee to investigate the situation and the first two witnesses to be called were Josephine Spencer Francis and Albert Weener. William Rufus Le ffaçasé was as enthusiastic as his phlegmatic nature permitted.
Weener ... man your position ... appreciate absolute necessity certain amount of routine ... keep the cranks out, otherwise swarming with them, simply swarming ... wartime precautions ... must excuse me now ... terribly rushed ... glad to have met " Swallowing the rest of the sentence and putting his hand over his mouth lest he should inadvertently regurgitate it, he started for his office.
"No, Weener, it won't do I can't trade in my vision as a downpayment on a means to encourage a waste of ground, seed and water. You may think I lost such rights when I thought up the name Metamorphizer to appeal on the popular level, but there's a difference." That was a clincher. Anyone who believed Metamorphizer had salesappeal just wasnt all there.
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