ndividual or group of individuals can do."

"But how in hell does anything get started? With one guy, two
guys--before you know it, you got a crowd, a political party, a
country--"

"What about the other countries, though?" asked Buttonhole. "So we're
sold on your story in America, let's say. What do we do--let the rest of
the world walk in and take us over?"

"We educate them," Clocker explained despairingly. "We start it here and
it spreads to there. It doesn't have to be everybody. Mr. Calhoun said I
just have to convince a few people and that'll show them it can be done
and then I get Zelda back."

Doc stood up and glanced around the table. "I believe I speak for all of
us, Clocker, when I state that we shall do all within our power to aid
you."

"Like telling other people?" Clocker asked eagerly.

"Well, that's going pretty--"

"Forget it, then. Go write your column. I'll see you chumps
around--around ten miles up, shaped like a mushroom."

He stamped out, so angry that he untypically let the others settle his
bill.

* * * * *

Clocker's experiment with the newspaper failed so badly that it was not
worth the expense of putting it out; people refused to buy. Clocker had
three-sheets printed and hired sandwich men to parade them through the
city. He made violent speeches in Columbus Circle, where he lost his
audience to revivalist orators; Union Square, where he was told heatedly
to bring his message to Wall Street; and Times Square, where the police
made him move along so he wouldn't block traffic. He obeyed, shouting
his message as he walked, until he remembered how amusedly he used to
listen to those who cried that Doomsday was near. He wondered if they
were catatonics under imperfect control. It didn't matter; nobody paid
serious attention to his or their warnings.

The next step, logically, was a barrage of letters to the heads of
nations, to the U.N., to editors of newspapers. Only a few of his
letters were printed. The ones in Doc's tabloid did best, drawing such
comments as:

"Who does this jerk think he is, telling us everybody's going to get
killed off? Maybe they will, but not in Brooklyn!"

"When I was a young girl, some fifty years ago, I had a similar
experience to Mr. Locke's. But my explanation is quite simple. The
persons I saw proved to be my ancestors. Mr. Locke's new-found friends
will, I am sure, prove to be the same. The World Beyond knows all and