wo interviews a year
for six years--and three extra ones this week! Imagine! Fifteen times
this boy has said he wants to be a Destructor--and no one even knows
what a Destructor is."

"Well," Smithy said with a shrug, convinced that Possy was getting all
excited over nothing, "I admit it seems strange--and highly
single-minded for so young a boy. But don't you imagine it's some word
he just made up?"

"I admitted that as a possibility until this morning. But look here."

Possy reached behind his chair and took up a small leather bag. Slowly
he unzipped it and delved inside. Then, with a grim flourish, he brought
forth the body of a cat.

As Smithy's eyes widened, Possy said dramatically: "Smithy, that boy
killed this cat with a _glance_."

"With a--a what?"

"A glance! You heard me correctly. He just looked at the cat, and the
beast dropped dead. And he did it to other things, too--a sparrow, a
baby fox. Why, he even did it to a rat that had been cornered by this
very cat.

"I tell you, I had never been so shaken by anything in all my life. I
said to myself, 'Possy, have you got yourself a mutant?' 'No,' I
replied. 'He's completely normal in every respect, physically and
otherwise. He's a bit brighter than average, perhaps--ninety-eight six
in his studies, including elementary astrophysics. He speaks
brilliantly, composes poetry, even invents little gadgets. He's a
genius, maybe, but not a mutant.' Then I asked myself, 'how do you
account for the cat?'"

Possy paused, inferentially transferring the question to his friend.

"I can't account for the cat," Smithy said. "Unless we assume its death
was a coincidence. But I confess you've aroused my curiosity. Could I
see and talk to this boy who wants to be a--" he grimaced--"a
Destructor?"

"I'm glad you asked." Possy sighed with relief. "Actually he is outside
now, waiting to join us. But I must warn you that you'll find him quite
precocious. However, he's extremely amenable."

Possy went quickly to the door, opened it and called, "Herbux, come in."

The boy entered. He was, Smithy observed, a quite ordinary-looking boy.
He was so obviously ten years old that you couldn't say he was either
old or young, large or small, fat or thin or anything else, "for his
age." He was just ten years old and a boy.

"Herbux," said Possy, "I want you to meet a friend of mine--the famous
Dr. Smithlawn."

"How do you do, sir," Herbux said politely.

"How do _you_ do," re