n the shuffle, and later I was credited with
launching a new item on which I didn't even have a record.

It came about this way:

* * * * *

Just before lunch one day, one of the Old Hag's promotion-minded
pixies flounced her fanny into my interview chair, crossed her knees
up to her navel and began selling me her pet project. She was a
relative of the Madame as well as a department head, so I had to
listen.

Her idea was corny--a new dusting powder with "Atummion" added, to be
called, "Atummyc Afterbath Dusting Powder"--"Atummyc", of course,
being a far-fetched play on the word "atomic". What delighted her
especially was that the intimate, meaningful word "tummy" occurred in
her coined trade name, and this was supposed to do wonders in
stimulating the imaginations of the young females of man-catching-age.

[Illustration]

As I said, the idea was corny. But the little hazel-eyed pixie was
not. She was about 24, black-haired, small-waisted and bubbling with
hormones. With her shapely knees and low-cut neckline she was a
pleasant change of scenery from the procession of self-seeking
middle-agers I had been interviewing--not that her motive was any
different.

I stalled a little to feast my eyes. "This _Atummion Added_ item," I
said, "just what is _Atummion_?"

"That's my secret," she said, squinching her eyes at me like a
fun-loving little cobra. "My brother is assistant head chemist, and
he's worked up a formula of fission products we got from the Atomic
Energy Commission for experimentation."

"Fission products!" I said. "That stuff's dangerous!"

"Not this formula," she assured me. "Bob says there's hardly any
radiation to it at all. Perfectly harmless."

"Then what's it supposed to do?" I inquired naively.

She stood up, placed one hand on her stomach and the other behind her
head, wiggled and stretched. "Atummyc Bath Powder will give milady
that wonderful, vibrant, _atomic_ feeling," she announced in a voice
dripping with innuendo.

"All right," I said, "that's what it's supposed to do. Now what does
it really do?"

"Smells good and makes her slippery-dry, like any other talcum," she
admitted quite honestly. "It's the name and the idea that will put it
across."

"And half a million dollars," I reminded her. "I'm afraid the whole
thing is a little too far off the track to consider at this time. I'm
here to make a new lipstick go. Maybe later--"

"I appreciate that,