Nathanial Evergood was an eccentric old man
with a photographic passion for pretty girls. So
he invented a camera lens for special effects—
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
December 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Appearances oftentimes can be deceiving, and things most certainlyaren't always as they seem. Take the case of Nathanial Evergood, forinstance.
The nature of this old man was such that nobody ever called him Nat,not even his closest working companions in the company's bookkeepingdepartment. As long as any of them had ever known Nathanial Evergoodthere had never been the slightest indication of any desire of his forintimacy or even friendship.
Not once had he shared a drink or lunch or relaxed conversation withanyone, so far as his associates knew. To say Nathanial was reserved isputting it mildly.
It would be more accurate to describe this little old man asdull—completely and absolutely dull. In his appearance, his dress, hisspeech, in every way imaginable.
But, in addition to being quite dull—as everyone knew, NathanialEvergood was also a thoroughly evil and obscene old man, as no one knew.
Likely, the main reason no one had ever seen the inside of Nathanial'srooms was the fear within him that his evilness and obscenity mightbe discovered. For Nathanial Evergood might be called a connoisseur,to slightly distort the meaning of that word. He could be called aconnoisseur of femininity—from afar, and in secret, of course. Anarbiter of the well-turned thigh, the rounded, dimpled bottom, thetight waist, and the high, firm bosom.
Oh, Nathanial Evergood was a connoisseur, all right. At theinvestigation he ventured a very rough but conservative guess that hehad collected at least fifty thousand pictures of girls, in whole or inpart, horizontal or vertical, semi-nude or nude, over the years.
Upon entering his living room (if that were possible), the first thinga casual observer would have noted would be the point of saturationreached by his walls in their photographic content. There werephotographs of blonds and brunettes and redheads. There were picturesof thin girls, fat girls, girls with ample bosoms and girls lacking,girls holding telephones, books and ice cream cones, girls sixteen,girls twenty-five, and girls no longer girls.
There were shots in glorious color by the hundreds, originals andprints alike. But, there wasn't among them one single view of the GrandCanyon. Nor even a solitary Indian astride a tired horse, lookingpensively out over the prairie. There was a red-skinned maiden, mindyou, but she wasn't sitting a horse, and she certainly wasn't staringlaconically out over any prairie, either. Rather, she appeared tobe testing with her toe the water temperature of a tree-shaded brooksomewhere, and she was clad in a lone, strategically-located feather.
On the tea table, in the bookshelves, in the magazine rack, and allthrough his rooms, one might find other evidence of this evil andobscene old man's preoccupation with womankind. But the kind of womanhe was preoccupied with often wasn't the kind that married dear olddad. He subscribed to every girlie publication in the country and toseveral in France.
So you see, Nathanial Evergood was not only a connoisseur, he was alsoan avid collector. There were books and there were magazines, and therewas even a deck of playing cards backed with the most astounding set ofpictures you ever saw. That anyone could sit down to a game of