theme. They can't ever take that away from you. By now,
half the inhabitants of the Great Plains must have observed our flying
loaves rising high."

Phineas T. Gryce shot a frightened look at the west windows and found
his full voice.

"Stop the mills!" he roared at Meg Winterly, who nodded and whispered
urgently into her mike.

"A sensible suggestion," Tin Philosopher said. "But it comes a trifle
late in the day. If the mills are still walking and grinding,
approximately seven billion Puffyloaves are at this moment cruising
eastward over Middle America. Remember that a six-month supply for
deep-freeze is involved and that the current consumption of bread, due
to its matchless airiness, is eight and one-half loaves per person per
day."

Phineas T. Gryce carefully inserted both hands into his scanty hair,
feeling for a good grip. He leaned menacingly toward Roger who, chin
resting on the table, regarded him apathetically.

"Hold it!" Meg called sharply. "Flock of multiple-urgents coming in.
News Liaison: information bureaus swamped with flying-bread inquiries.
Aero-expresslines: Clear our airways or face law suit. U. S. Army: Why
do loaves flame when hit by incendiary bullets? U. S. Customs: If bread
intended for export, get export license or face prosecution. Russian
Consulate in Chicago: Advise on destination of bread-lift. And some
Kansas church is accusing us of a hoax inciting to blasphemy, of faking
miracles--I don't know _why_."

The business girl tore off her headphones. "Roger Snedden," she cried
with a hysteria that would have dumfounded her underlings, "you've
brought the name of Puffyloaf in front of the whole world, all right!
Now do something about the situation!"

Roger nodded obediently. But his pallor increased a shade, the pupils of
his eyes disappeared under the upper lids, and his head burrowed beneath
his forearms.

"Oh, boy," Rose Thinker called gayly to Tin Philosopher, "this looks
like the start of a real crisis session! Did you remember to bring spare
batteries?"

* * * * *

Meanwhile, the monstrous flight of Puffyloaves, filling midwestern skies
as no small fliers had since the days of the passenger pigeon, soared
steadily onward.

Private fliers approached the brown and glistening bread-front in
curiosity and dipped back in awe. Aero-expresslines organized
sightseeing flights along the flanks. Planes of the government forestry
and agricultural ser