ounding heart must have been visible right through my clothes. I
swallowed and tried to say something, although I had no clear idea of
what I was going to say. Words would not come. I leaned over and took
another sheet from my briefcase and tugged at it. It tore in half with
practically no effort. I took another, same results, and still another.
I dimly realized that all the people at the meeting were staring at me,
but I wasn't concerned. I knew something must be wrong with all the
specimens; possibly I had placed regular cleaning tissues in my
briefcase, or maybe Susan ... but even as I thought it I knew such a
mistake was impossible.

I reached over and tried tearing one of the sheets I had passed out to
the others. It tore into quarters as easily as it had torn into halves.
That finished me. I leaned back and looked around at the silent group
and wondered what Mr. Spardleton would have said at a time like that. I
started to smile and discovered that my original smile was still frozen
on my face. I stood up and began retrieving the torn papers; they passed
them back to me without saying anything. I replaced them in my
briefcase, closed it, said, "Gentlemen, Christmas falls on Friday this
year," and walked out.

* * *

It was raining outside, but I scarcely noticed. I hailed a cab to the
Logan Airport, changed my reservations to an earlier plane, and returned
to Washington. It was a slow trip. The planes were stacked up in the
rain at the Washington International Airport, but I did not notice the
passage of time. I was too stunned to think clearly, but I kept trying.
I got quite wet in Washington, but I was in a hurry to see Mr.
Spardleton and I did not bother to change my clothes.

I burst into his office. He looked up and said, "Well, I didn't expect
to see you until tomorrow. How did...?" He saw my face.

I plopped my briefcase on his desk and pulled out all the specimens and
dumped them in front of him. I said, "Just look at these. This
'Tearproof Paper' has deteriorated. These specimens are useless. Right
in front of all the Rude chemists, they go bad. Most of them are new
ones, too. How can this be possible? Just look at them."

Mr. Spardleton picked up one of the sheets, rubbed it, and then tugged
at it gently to tear it. It did not tear. He pulled harder, and then
harder, and it did not tear. I stared at him in disbelief and said, "Oh,
Mr. Spardleton, this is no time to play games with