of people at great expense through space,
guaranteeing to give them a life of constant comfort and ease, so that
they might dream and think as they wander through the flowers and the
leaves, their thoughts cleansed of worry about work and responsibility,
then you have a job. Loveral was most busy, busier than his heritage of
wealth ever before had allowed, seeing to all of this.

But he also was most content--with everything except Atkinson.

Mrs. Atkinson teetered on the edge of her chair, as though she might at
any moment go flying across the room in a crazy gyration. There was
something about her eyes, Loveral noticed, while he peacefully nodded in
the chair. Fear, perhaps.

If so, he probably had been right. He tightened himself, listening.
There it was again. The sound. Just as he had heard it a day before when
he had passed near the house. He leaned forward quickly.

Mrs. Atkinson jumped.

Loveral smiled. "Didn't I hear a noise of some sort, my dear?"

"Noise?" the woman said, as though her own voice were the sound of an
echo.

"An odd noise," Loveral said, his eyes searching.

The woman's hands fluttered about her dress.

Loveral stood up. "Would you mind if I just glanced about, my dear?"

The woman didn't answer, but Loveral was already moving across the room
toward a door. He opened it and walked down a hall. The noise grew
stronger. He threw open another door.

* * * * *

He stood watching while George Atkinson spun around, dark eyes flashing,
hair tousled. There was a two days' growth of beard darkening Atkinson's
face.

"Why, George," Loveral said, swiftly examining the litter of metal and
wood which was spread over a table behind Atkinson. There was a
home-made hammer in Atkinson's hand. "What have we here, George?"

"Something for you," Atkinson said, tightening his fingers about the
handle of the hammer.

Loveral grinned his famous Loveral grin. "That's fine. What could it
be?"

"None of your damned business."

"_George_," Loveral said, his smile still white but his eyes narrow and
quick.

The woman was behind them. Her voice screeched. "George, I told you. Why
didn't you listen, George? You should have listened to me. You--"

Loveral held up a hand, still watching Atkinson. "Now tell me, George,
what is it you're making for me?"

Atkinson raised the hammer slightly.

Loveral stood very still. "That's a nice hammer, George."

Atkinson's eyes we