L. Major Reynolds

“ Ted extended the box. "This. We'd like to sell it to you."
"What is it? A bomb?"
"No, sir. It makes holes. It makes holes real quick."
Blair scowled at the box. "What the hell do I want of holes?"
Bill Stephens came forward with further explanation. "You see, sir, Ted and I are inventors. We make, well—things. We've been working on this invention in our basement and it seems to be a success."
"We don't quite know why it's a success," Ted said, "but it is." ”

“ Ted said, "The hole goes into the fourth dimension. There's no other explanation. And the fourth dimension holds solider than concrete."
Old Blair's head was spinning, but business instinct came quickly to his rescue. "What happens," he asked, "if something in the third dimension is in the way?"
"It gets out of the way," Bill said.
Ted demonstrated. He trained the box on the visible remains of the pencil. It vanished.
Blair said, "Well, I'll be damned!"
"We figure this will save you a lot of money in construction work," Bill said. "You can get along without riveters. ”

“ It's business. Now about those other bids. By gad! We can run every contractor in town out of competition! They can't touch our prices!"
Out on the sidewalk, Bill and Ted sat mournfully looking up at the vast steel skeleton, held together literally by their own genius. Ted said, "We got a raw deal."
"Maybe we had it coming. We were pretty stupid."
"Anything we can do?"
"Doesn't look like it."
"Maybe the leather solution will turn out."
"Maybe." Bill looked wistfully up at the steel skeleton. "At even a cent a hole, we'd have done all right." ”