tough intricacies, or the rattling reapers
entangling themselves to become like waterlogged ships.

But greatest hopes were now being pinned on a new weapon. A dozen black
and sootylooking tanktrucks had come up and from them, like the arms of
a squid, thick hoses lazily uncoiled. Hundreds of gallons of dark
crudeoil were being poured upon the grass. At least ten bystanders
eagerly explained to any who would listen the purpose and value of this
maneuver. Petroleum, deadly enemy of all rooted things, would
unquestionably kill the weed. They might as well call off all the other
silly efforts, for in a day or two, as soon as the oil soaked into the
ground, the roots would die, the monster collapse and wither away. I
wanted with all my heart to believe in this hope, but when I compared
the feeble brown trickle to the vast green body I was gravely doubtful.

Shaken and thoughtful, I went back to my car and drove homeward,
reflecting on the fortuitousness of human actions. Had I not answered
Miss Francis' ad someone else would have been the agent of calamity; had
Mrs Dinkman been away from home that day another place than hers, or
perhaps no place at all, might have been engulfed.

On the other hand, I might still be searching for a chance to prove my
merit to the world. It seemed to me suddenly man was but a helpless
creature afterall.

_15._ It wasnt until I was almost at my own frontdoor I remembered the
purpose of my visit, which was not to draw philosophic conclusions, but
to order my impressions so the columns of the _Daily Intelligencer_
might benefit by the reactions of one so closely connected with the
spread of the devilgrass. I began tentatively putting sentences together
and by the time I got to my room and sat down with pencil and paper, I
was in a ferment of creative activity.

Now I cannot account for this, but the instant I took the pencil in my
fingers all thought of the grass left my mind. No effort to summon back
those fine rolling sentences was of the least avail. I slapped my
forehead and muttered, "Grass, grass, Bermuda, _Cynodon dactylon_"
aloud, varying it with such key words as "Dinkman, swallowing up, green
hill" and the like, but all I could think of was buying a tire (700 x
16) for the left rear wheel, paying my overdue rent, Gootes' infuriating
buffoonery, the possibilities for a man of my caliber in Florida or New
York, and with a couple of thousand dollars a nice mailorder business
could