one end of the country to the other. Lanes
led from Maine and from Florida into a central main Highway that laid
across the breadth of the United States. Then from Washington and from
Southern California another branching network met this main Highway.
Lesser lines served Canada and Mexico. The big Main Trunk ran from New
York to San Francisco with only one large major division: A heavy line
that led down to a place in Texas called _Homestead_. Homestead, Texas,
was a big center that made Scholar Phelps' Medical Center look like a
Teeny Weeny Village by comparison.

We drove in Marian's car. My rented car, of course, was returned to the
agency and my own bus would be ferried out as soon as it could be
arranged so that I'd not be without personal transportation in Texas.
Catherine remained in Wisconsin because she was too new at being a
Mekstrom to know how to conduct herself so that the fact of her
super-powerful body did not cause a lot of slack jaws and high
suspicion.

We drove along the Highways to Homestead, carrying a bag of the Mekstrom
Mail.

The trip was uneventful.

XIII

Since this account of my life and adventures is not being written
without some plan, it is no mere coincidence that this particular
section comes under Chapter Thirteen. Old Unlucky Thirteen covers ninety
days which I consider the most dismal ninety days of my life. Things,
which had been going along smoothly had, suddenly got worse.

We started with enthusiasm. They cut and they dug and they poked needles
into me and trimmed out bits of my hide for slides. I helped them by
digging my own flesh and letting their better telepaths read my results
for their records.

They were nice to me. I got the best of everything. But being nice to me
was not enough; it sort of made me feel like Gulliver in Brobdingnag.
They were so over-strong that they did not know their own strength. This
was especially true of the youngsters of Mekstrom parents. I tried to
re-diaper a baby one night and got my ring finger gummed for my efforts.
It was like wrestling Bad Cyril in a one-fall match, winner take all.

As the days added up into weeks, their hope and enthusiasm began to
fade. The long list of proposed experiments dwindled and it became
obvious that they were starting to work on brand new ideas. But brand
new ideas are neither fast in arriving nor high in quantity, and time
began to hang dismally heavy.

They began to avoid my eyes. They st