tedly went with her scientific gift. You have
to lead individuals of this type for their own good, otherwise they
spend their lives wandering around in a dreamy fog, accomplishing
nothing.

"I still believe youve got something," I pointed out. "You yourself said
it wasnt perfected, but perhaps you havent realized how far from
marketable it actually is yet. Now then," I went on reasonably, "youre
just going to have to dilute it or change it or do something to it, so
while it will make grass nice and green, it won't let it grow wild like
this."

The fixed look could be annoying. It was nearly impossible to turn your
eyes away without rudeness once she caught them. "Weener, the
Metamorphizer is neither fertilizer nor plant food. It is a chemical
compound producing a controlled mutation in any treated member of the
family Gramineae. Dilution might make it not work--the mutation might
not take place--but it couldnt make it half work. I could change your
nature by forcibly injecting an ounce of lead into your cerebellum. The
change would not only be irrevocable, but it wouldnt make the slightest
difference if the lead were adulterated with ironpyrites or not."

"But, Miss Francis," I expostulated, "you'll have to do _something_."

She threw her hands into the air, a theatrical gesture even more than
ordinarily unbecoming. "Why?"

"Why? To make your discovery marketable, of course."

"Now? In the face of this?"

"Miss Francis," I said with dignity, "you are a lady and my selfrespect
makes me treat you with the courtesy due your sex. You advertised for a
salesman. Instead of sneering at my honest efforts to put your
merchandise across to the public, I think youd be better advised to
worry about such lowbrow things as keeping faith."

"Am I to keep faith in a vacuum? You came to me as a salesman and I must
give you something to sell. This is simple morality; but if such a grant
entails concomitant evils, surely I am absolved of my original
contract."

"I don't know what youre talking about," I told her frankly. "Your
stuff made the grass grow too fast, that's all. You should change the
formula or find a new one or else ..."

"Or else youll have been left with nothing to sell. I despair of making
the point about changing the formula; your trust in my powers is too
reverent. Again, I'm not an arrogant woman and I'll admit to some
responsibility. Make the world fit for Alfred Weener to make a living
in."

"It's Alber