sly, but had used the title in lieu of any other first name. That
was the first of the inexplicable things; Farmer would have expected the
odd little old man to call himself a professor of something or other.
But Ray insisted on Judge.

Ray had come to the office of the _Stein, Fine, Bryans Publishing Co._,
where Farmer was working as an assistant editor, and announced that he
was about to write the greatest book of the age. And yes, he wanted an
advance against royalties--it didn't have to be large; Ray lived
simply--to tide him over while doing the actual writing, which shouldn't
take more than a very few weeks.

Now, Farmer wasn't much of an editor, even as editors go. The one useful
quality he had was a homespun, ingratiating air which put nervous young
geniuses at their ease, so that they could give a reasonably coherent
verbal picture of what their books were about. This often saved Stein,
Fine & Bryans a lot of reading of unpublishable manuscripts. At least,
that had been the theory when they gave Farmer the job; as it worked
out, John Andrew was a person who found it virtually impossible to say
"no"; he generally took the manuscripts in hand and, when he couldn't
stick some other member of the firm with the task, read them himself
until the wee hours.

Farmer was not able to say no to Ray, but even he looked dubious at the
small gray fellow's voluble outpouring of pseudo-scientific jargon. Ray,
made sensitive by years of open skepticism on the part of many
listeners, caught the look and insisted on a demonstration of his
fabulous invention.

So the oddly assorted pair--quick, foxlike little Ray and big, awkward,
uncomfortable Farmer--sputtered out into Long Island Sound in an
indescribable old motor launch, and the adventure was on.

* * * * *

Finally Ray shut off the racketing engine and let out the rusty anchor.
He opened a large wooden case, which showed evidence of some really good
cabinet-work, and took out a peculiar machine, which showed evidence of
unarguably excellent machining. These details were the first things that
made Farmer think Ray might not be a complete crackpot, after all. If he
hadn't been feeling just the slightest touch of seasickness, John Andrew
would have breathed a sigh of relief.

Ray polished off the somewhat rabbit-from-hatty routine by bringing out
a portable television set, connecting it to the boat's electrical
generator, and stringing an