Old Sledge
By PAUL ERNST
"On the table lay the man who had assembled this strange contrivance."
A strange piece of science-fiction—the story of an eccentric inventor who
foretold the future by means of a weird machine
I HAPPENED to be out the afternoon old Sledge moved in. But I was not long in ignorance of his arrival. Mrs. Stong told me about it the moment I came back. In fact, she was waiting in the hall to tell me. She was a bit nervous.
"He's a very old man," she concluded. "He offered a big price and I needed the money, so I rented him the room next to yours. I hope you won't mind."
Mrs. Stong is more like an aunt to me than a landlady. She's a nice elderly woman, a widow, left a house and a tiny income by her husband.
"Mind?" I said. "I'm glad you've got another tenant. Why should I mind?"
"Well, he might be a bother to you," she replied, her mild blue eyes troubled. "I know you like things quiet when you work, and he might not be very quiet."
