Bob Bright And His Atomic Auto-Lion

Bob Bright’s Atomic Auto-Lion was a roaring success.

Bob’s mouth gave birth to the words, “we’ve just created artificial life!”

“The joints need a bit more oil,” Doc Fulton squeaked. Oslo, their Norwegian manservant, quickly put in a bit of elbow grease.

“This will help us find those prisoners who escaped with classified material on the hadron collider,” said the Doctor, with concern.

“You lead the manhunt and we’ll get lunch. I’m so hungry I could eat roadkill,” Bob crowed ravenously.

“Where can we eat in Budapest?” Oslo asked hungrily.

* * *

“That was a good restaurant,” Bob yelped.

“The cheese was a bit old,” Oslo said sharply.

“Message for Bob Bright!” frothed the bartender.

“You don’t have to yell! I can hear you crystal clear,” Bob chimed in, dashing to the telegraph.

A smile creeped across his face when he saw it was about the criminals.

“The escaped prisoners were found in the campground,” he said contentedly.

Bob dictated a response with the authority of an autocrat. When he got wind of the Doc’s further exploits, it sent him into gales of laughter.

“I can’t believe he strangled a clown,” said Oslo, choking back a laugh.

The Bright lad retorted, this time at a turtle’s pace. Like the time he had called in to get twenty year old planks refunded, he got no reply.

* * *

“Where should we put the bodies?” Oslo asked, gravely.

The Auto-Lion had gone bananas and split open Doc Fulton’s head.

“The radiation from Doc Fulton’s mobile telegraph must have made the Auto-Lion go dotty. If I hadn’t sent that second telegram, the Doctor would still be alive,” said Tom remorsefully.