elps
tap the unused eighty per cent. The pre-symptomatic memory is
unaffected, due to automatic cerebral lapse in case of overload. I'm
afraid it won't do much more than cube his present IQ, and an
intelligent idiot is still an idiot, but--"

"How dare you?" Melinda's eyes flashed. "My son is _not_ an idiot! You
get out of here this minute and take your--things with you." As she
reached for the prism, Harry Junior squalled. Melinda relented. "Here,"
she said angrily, fumbling with her purse. "How much are they?"

"Medium of exchange?" Porteous rubbed his bald skull. "Oh, I really
shouldn't--but it'll make such a wonderful addendum to the chapter on
malignant primitives. What is your smallest denomination?"

"Is a dollar okay?" Melinda was hopeful.

Porteous was pleased with the picture of George Washington. He turned
the bill over and over in his fingers, at last bowed low and formally,
apologized for any tabu violations, and left via the front door.

"Crazy fraternities," muttered Melinda, turning on the TV set.

* * * * *

Kitty Kyle was dull that morning. At length Melinda used some of the
liquid in the green vial on her eyelashes, was quite pleased at the
results, and hid the rest in the medicine cabinet.

Harry Junior was a model of docility the rest of that day. While Melinda
watched TV and munched chocolates, did and re-did her hair, Harry Junior
played quietly with the crystal prism.

Toward late afternoon, he crawled over to the bookcase, wrestled down
the encyclopedia and pawed through it, gurgling with delight. He
definitely, Melinda decided, would make a fine lawyer someday, not a
useless putterer like Big Harry, who worked all hours overtime in that
damned lab. She scowled as Harry Junior, bored with the encyclopedia,
began reaching for one of Big Harry's tomes on nuclear physics. One
putterer in the family was enough! But when she tried to take the book
away from him, Harry Junior howled so violently that she let well enough
alone.

At six-thirty, Big Harry called from the lab, with the usual despondent
message that he would not be home for supper. Melinda said a few
resigned things about cheerless dinners eaten alone, hinted darkly what
lonesome wives sometimes did for company, and Harry said he was very
sorry, but this might be _it_, and Melinda hung up on him in a temper.

Precisely fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. Melinda opened the
front door and ga