hly disheartened and depressed, and
whatever the professor said about my lack of intelligence, I felt it
justified.

"Hereafter," resumed van Manderpootz, "I shall credit nobody except
myself with intelligence, and will doubtless be much more nearly
correct." He waved a hand at Isaak's vacant corner. "Not even the Bacon
head," he continued. "I've abandoned that project, because, when you
come right down to it, what need has the world of a mechanical brain
when it already has that of van Manderpootz?"

"Professor," I burst out suddenly, "why won't they let me see Denise?
I've been at the hospital every day, and they let me into her room just
once--just once, and that time she went right into a fit of hysterics.
Why? Is she--?" I gulped.

"She's recovering nicely, Dixon."

"Then why can't I see her?"

"Well," said van Manderpootz placidly, "it's like this. You see, when
you rushed into the laboratory there, you made the mistake of pushing
your face in front of the barrel. She saw your features right in the
midst of all those horrors she had called up. Do you see? From then on
your face was associated in her mind with the whole hell's brew in the
mirror. She can't even look at you without seeing all of it again."

"_Good--God!_" I gasped. "But she'll get over it, won't she? She'll
forget that part of it?"

"The young psychiatrist who attends her--a bright chap, by the way, with
a number of my own ideas--believes she'll be quite over it in a couple
of months. But personally, Dixon, I don't think she'll ever welcome the
sight of your face, though I myself have seen uglier visages somewhere
or other."

I ignored that. "Lord!" I groaned. "What a mess!" I rose to depart, and
then--then I knew what inspiration means!

"Listen!" I said, spinning back. "Listen, professor! Why can't you get
her back here and let her visualize the ideally beautiful? And then
I'll--I'll stick my face into that!" Enthusiasm grew. "It can't fail!" I
cried. "At the worst, it'll cancel that other memory. It's marvelous!"

"But as usual," said van Manderpootz, "a little late."

"Late? Why? You can put up your idealizator again. You'd do that much,
wouldn't you?"

"Van Manderpootz," he observed, "is the very soul of generosity. I'd do
it gladly, but it's still a little late, Dixon. You see, she married the
bright young psychiatrist this noon."

Well, I've a date with Tips Alva tonight, and I'm going to be late for
it, just as late as I ple