Nathanial Evergood was an eccentric old man
           with a photographic passion for pretty girls. So
            he invented a camera lens for special effects--

                      And All The Girls Were Nude

                          By Richard Magruder

           [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 certainly
_aren't_ always as they seem. Take the case of Nathanial Evergood, for
instance.

The nature of this old man was such that nobody ever called him Nat,
not even his closest working companions in the company's bookkeeping
department. As long as any of them had ever known Nathanial Evergood
there had never been the slightest indication of any desire of his for
intimacy or even friendship.

Not once had he shared a drink or lunch or relaxed conversation with
anyone, so far as his associates knew. To say Nathanial was reserved is
putting it mildly.

It would be more accurate to describe this little old man as
dull--completely and absolutely dull. In his appearance, his dress, his
speech, in every way imaginable.

But, in addition to being quite dull--as everyone knew, Nathanial
Evergood 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's
rooms was the fear within him that his evilness and obscenity might
be discovered. For Nathanial Evergood might be called a connoisseur,
to slightly distort the meaning of that word. He could be called a
connoisseur of femininity--from afar, and in secret, of course. An
arbiter of the well-turned thigh, the rounded, dimpled bottom, the
tight waist, and the high, firm bosom.

Oh, Nathanial Evergood was a connoisseur, all right. At the
investigation he ventured a very rough but conservative guess that he
had collected at least fifty thousand pictures of girls, in whole or in
part, horizontal or vertical, semi-nude or nude, over the years.

Upon entering his living room (if that were possible), the first thing
a casual observer would have noted would be the point of saturation
reached by his walls in their photographic content. There were
photographs of blonds and brunettes and redheads. There were pictures
of 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 and
prints alike. But, there wasn't among them one single view of the Grand
Canyon. Nor even a solitary Indian astride a tired horse, looking
pensively out over the prairie. There _was_ a red-skinned maiden, mind
you, but she wasn't sitting a horse, and she certainly wasn't staring
laconically out over any prairie, either. Rather, she appeared to
be testing with her toe the water temperature of a tree-shaded brook
somewhere, and she was clad in a lone, strategically-located feather.

On the tea table, in the bookshelves, in the magazine rack, and all
through his rooms, one might find other evidence of this evil and
obscene old man's preoccupation with womankind. But the kind of woman
he was preoccupied with often wasn't the kind that married dear old
dad. He subscribed to every girlie publication in the country and to
several in France.

       *       *       *       *       *

So you see, Nathanial Evergood was not only a connoisseur, he was also
an avid collector. There were books and there were magazines, and there
was even a deck of playing cards backed with the most astounding set of
pictures you ever saw. That anyone could sit down to a game of Old Maid
or Snap with _that_ deck of cards is inconceivable, to say the least.
But such an evil and obscene old man as Nathanial Evergood likely never
played games with his cards, anyway. He would much prefer to just sit
and look at them; the reverse side, of course.

He later said he probably spent almost half his really quite meager
earnings for up-to-date additions to his extensive collection. The
girlie magazines, playing cards and prints he received from various
mail order houses, sent, as the advertisements testified, "in a plain,
unmarked envelope".

But the other half of his collection--the photographs, mounted,
unmounted, matte and glossy enlargements and contact prints--Nathanial
Evergood came by in an entirely different--and somewhat novel--manner.
These resulted from his ability as a fairly advanced amateur
photographer. Over the years, Nathanial had acquired three fine
cameras, an excellent enlarger, two contact printers, electronic
flash units, interchangeable lenses, filters, sun shades and lens
caps, extension tubes and tripods. In short, Nathanial Evergood was
well-equipped to take photographs of just about everything.

He had the equipment, and he had the necessary technical knowledge
and facility. But, invariably, he passed up the usual pictorial,
architectural, human interest, interpretive and abstract photographs,
even when the opportunities for truly fine shots were there. Instead,
he took roll after roll, pack after pack and cartridge upon cartridge
of girls. _Nothing_ but girls. All _sorts_ of girls. _Just girls!_

At the investigation Nathanial suggested that the presence of a camera,
introduced on the scene in a gentlemanly and courteous manner, was
enough to cause almost frenzied unlocking and unzipping by even the
most demure and prudish female. "Ladies," Nathanial said wisely, "love
to have their bodies recorded for posterity."

Oh, he was certainly a very evil and highly obscene old man--was
Nathanial Evergood--if ever you saw one.

But the full import of what his evil old soul and obscene little mind
contained would probably escape the casual observer, unless he happened
onto a tiny cubbyhole at the back of the rooms occupied by Nathanial.
This was the sanctum sanctorum, so to speak, of his thin little heart,
for here Nathanial Evergood guarded jealously a secret utterly beyond
belief.

He fancied himself to be something of an inventor. And he was, too--of
a sort. His ardent and relentless pursuit of photographic subject
matter during the years had led him into situations demanding full
knowledge of his craft, from a technical rather than from an artistic
point of view. Thus, this inventive turn of mind was given an able
assist by his understanding of the theory, optics and chemistry of
photography.

And now, he was just putting the finishing touches to the most
important project in his entire life.

Basing his plan of action on the simple optical theory of astigmatism,
Nathanial designed a lens. Astigmatism, he had learned, results in the
human eye, as well as in manufactured lenses of certain formulae, in
the failure of horizontal and vertical target lines to reach a common
focus. So his lens was designed intentionally astigmatic, allowing
focus to be brought on one group of target lines or another, but never
on both simultaneously.

To the front of the lens mount he added a front-surfaced prism and
a filter, carefully ground and tinted internally the precise color
complement of human flesh. He reasoned, quite accurately as it turned
out, that the prism would gather all the colors of light together
and converge them at the focal plane of the lens as pure white, thus
eliminating all color. But, at the same instant, the complement
filter replaced last the flesh color of the object focused upon, and
subsequently recorded on film.

Then, in one fell swoop, the lens allowed Nathanial to focus carefully
on one group of target lines (in his case, the female form underneath
its covering), automatically throwing an opposing group of lines out
of focus (the covering over the female body, in his case). The prism
was busily gathering together all color and converting it into pure
white light, while lastly, the complementary filter replaced the color
of flesh to the image, and finally to the photograph. You see the
possibilities, of course. By replacing the normal lens of one fine
camera with his invention, Nathanial Evergood was now equipped to
photograph in rich, natural color the female form-divine, unfettered by
any or all clothing.

       *       *       *       *       *

Well, this day in particular, Nathanial Evergood stationed himself,
poised like a pointer, at his window, camera in hand, invention in
place, waiting impatiently for the first likely subject to appear.
And, shameful as it must seem, this evil and obscene old man was quite
noticeably drooling, right from one side of his pinched little mouth.

He heard the saucy click of her heels on the pavement a full thirty
seconds before she swung gracefully into his myopic line of sight. She
was blondish. Not _too_ blond, understand, but just blond enough. And
she was a true-blue blond at heart, if you know what I mean.

Shutter: set, at 1/200 of a second; diaphragm: f/5.6; film;
Real-lifecolor; rangefinder: superimposed. Click. Click, click, click!
Four shots, four beautiful pictures, in color, too, before she was
gone on down the street.

With incredible speed this evil and obscene old man descended from his
window perch and scuttered back to his little cubby hole. He darkened
the room and unloaded the automatic sheet film holder. No attempt can
be made to describe the gnawing impatience that Nathanial Evergood felt
as he sloshed the sensitized emulsions through the series of solutions
for the precise time required for true color rendition, as, after
ninety long minutes, he washed the sheets, and finally held them up to
the light for a first wide-eyed look.

She was there, alright, his swaying blond. She was there. _All_ of her!

Well sir, after filling his eyes--and his evil little mind--with the
four lovely images of the girl, Nathanial Evergood rushed to the
downtown camera shop, and wrote out a large check for their entire
supply of Real-lifecolor film. Then, back on the street, madly
clicking, clicking, clicking. Every pretty girl that came along.
_Every_ single one!

Oh, he had a time for himself, did this evil, obscene old man.

The next day was Sunday, happily for his designing brain, and there was
no work. After a full night in his cubby hole developing sheet after
sheet of color film, Nathanial went to the beach and, as you must know
by now, set his camera shutter clicking like a miniature machine gun.

And, again, the results were spectacular, to put it mildly. The
collection grew and grew and grew, and Nathanial Evergood was never
wearier, or never happier. What an evil, obscene man he was!

Now, if Nathanial had stuck to his camera and to his wonderful
invention, this story might never have been written. But, evil and
obscene as he was, he soon began to dream of new worlds to conquer.

Simple as it had been to apply the principle of astigmatism to
photography--and with such marvelous results--why not apply this same
principle to his eyeglasses? This would eliminate the annoying delay of
taking pictures, then developing and viewing them. To say nothing of
the terrific expense involved.

Usually, when writers say, "No sooner said than done", it is often a
gross exaggeration. But Nathanial _was_ quick about it, nevertheless.

In short order, the problems of focus, image distortion and aberrations
were ironed out, and Nathanial ventured once again out into the street
to give his newest brain-child its dry-run, so to speak.

The glasses worked all right. They worked just fine. And Nathanial
Evergood, in a leering ecstasy, raced up and down the streets, peering
with his watery and overworked eyes this way and that, up and down, all
around and back again. For the next day or so Nathanial was busy as a
bee attending every beauty contest and fashion show in town, and even
found time for a quick run out to the girl's school.

       *       *       *       *       *

The third day following the initial tests of his new seeing-eye
glasses, Nathanial suddenly observed there were an uncommon lot of
nicely constructed young ladies right in his own department at the
office. An opportunist, if ever there was one, Nathanial thought
it just might be fun to give the remarkable spectacles a chance to
separate the women from the girls, and the girls from the children.

This he did and although his work suffered, he spent the better part
of the day classifying the office help in various categories, and
learning there were at least two ladies who fell in no classification
whatsoever. It was the nicest day he had spent at the office in quite
some time, he decided.

Not long after that the strain brought on by the frequent changes from
his normal reading glasses to the prism spectacles became so intense
that he decided there was really no good reason why he shouldn't
just wear them--the new ones, of course--all the time. The better to
preserve his vision, and the better to pursue his avocation.

So, he did.

And therein lay the downfall of Nathanial Evergood.

For, you see, the climax of our story comes a month later, on a sunny
July day, when Nathanial made his decision to take a short stroll among
the mid-day lady shoppers downtown.

Understand, with those glasses of his, Nathanial had become so
accustomed to seeing his fellow creatures _au natural_, as it were,
that it was on the verge of becoming almost commonplace. But, evil and
obscene as he was, it was still highly diverting yet.

At any rate, on this particular day, Nathanial had made his way no more
than a couple of hundred feet from his front door when a heavy hand was
clamped on his shoulder and a rough voice growled, "Where you think
_you're_ going, you scrawny old buzzard? You oughta know better."

Nathanial Evergood spun about, suddenly petrified. The uniform, of
course, was invisible, and the man was no raving beauty, he'd have
said. But there was no mistaking the ugly gun and the shiny badge and
the authoritative tone of voice.

"I _beg_ your pardon," Nathanial spluttered indignantly. "Just what is
the meaning of this ridiculous outrage?"

The beefy Irish cop was even more indignant, though. "Now, just look at
yourself. I've seen absent-minded old timers parading down the street
with no shoes on, or even no pants on. But just look at yourself; not a
_stitch_ on!"

Nathanial Evergood looked down at himself in sudden horrified
realization, and looked back up as quickly. "But ... but," he began,
"everybody else...." But then, of course, he had to stop.

Well, the upshot of it all was that the officer hauled him back into
his rooms to get some clothes on before carting him down to the station
house. As it was before they entered the apartment, Nathanial stood to
get ten days probation or a token fine for forgetting all his clothes,
Irish cops being ordinarily an understanding lot.

But, when confronted by the staggering array of unclad femininity, this
Irishman flushed a deep red, spewed an amazed Irish blasphemy, and then
roared like a lion.

And don't think the officer didn't check the evidence carefully--with
the proper degree of loathing, of course--before shoving Nathanial
unceremoniously down the street to call the paddy wagon. Of a
certainty, things went much worse for the evil, obscene Nathanial
Evergood than they might have, had not this righteously outraged
policeman done his duty as he saw it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Matter of fact, they threw the book at the old boy. But not until a
thorough investigation was made, and not until several hundred outraged
members of every morals, anti-delinquency and anti-vice committee in
town had carefully checked and gasped over all the collected evidence.
Never in the history of the city had there been such a hue and a cry
aroused for the punishment of an offender.

So, Nathanial Evergood--evil and obscene as ever--got five years for
possession of pornography, indecent exposure and other charges. In the
words of the presiding jurist at the climax of the spectacular trial,
"Such a sentence is far too lenient a punishment for a crime of such
enormity."

And, to this very day, there rests in the files of the local
constabulary, the voluminous collection of Nathanial Evergood,
occupying fourteen huge, well-worn cabinets, and always on display
for the indignant and affronted eyes of any anti-sin committeeman who
wishes to examine it.

Also taken as evidence was Nathanial's wonderful prismatic lens and his
marvelous glasses. Anytime you're by the station house, drop into the
chief's office and, there in the open cabinet opposite his desk, you
can see the venal objects. Now though, the lenses are pretty scratched
and worn, but they're still the same two inventions of that ingenious,
but evil and obscene old man, Nathanial Evergood, No. 5-049,870.

And not that it makes much difference since the case is long past and
closed, but it might be interesting to point out that the chief is
often seen at beauty contests and fashion shows, wearing thick-lensed
glasses, which, he explains, the optometrist prescribed for his failing
sight. And I don't know if it's true or not, but they say the chief is
also the biggest customer the local camera shops have for a certain
product called Real-lifecolor film.

Not that it makes much difference now. Nathanial Evergood is serving
his sentence out, evil and obscene as ever, and the case is long past
and closed.