ll Miss Francis' metaphysical talk was beyond me, but what
little I could make of it was pure nonsense. Guilty. Why, I had never
done anything illegal in my life, unless taking a glass of beer in dry
territory be so accounted. All this talk about guilt suggested some sort
of inverted delusions of persecution. How sad it was the eccentricity of
genius so often turned its possessors into cranks. I was thankful to be
of mere normal intelligence.

_12._ But I wasted no more thought on her, putting the whole episode of
the Metamorphizer behind me, for I now had some liquid capital. It was
true it didnt amount to much, but it existed, crinkled in my pocket, and
I was sure with my experience and native ability I could turn the
_Daily Intelligencer_'s forty dollars into a much larger sum.

But a resolve to forget the Metamorphizer didnt enable me to escape Mrs
Dinkman's lawn. Walking down Hollywood Boulevard, formulating, rejecting
and reshaping plans for my future, I passed a radioshop and from a
loudspeaker hung over the door with the evident purpose of inducing
suggestible pedestrians to rush in and purchase sets, the latest report
of the devilgrass's advance was blared out at me.

"... Station KPAR, The Voice of Edendale, reaching you from a portable
transmitter located in the street in front of what was formerly the
residence of Mr and Mrs Dinkman. I guess youve all heard the story of
how their lawn was allegedly sprinkled with some chemical which made the
grass run wild. I don't know anything about that, but I want to tell you
this grass is certainly running wild. It must be fifteen or sixteen feet
high--think of that, folks--nearly as high as three men standing on each
other's shoulders. It's covered the roof halfway to the peak and it's
choking the windows and doorways of the houses on either side. It's all
over the sidewalk--looks like an enormous green woolly rug--no, that's
not quite right--anyway, it's all over the sidewalk and it would be
right out here in the street where I'm talking to you from if the
firedepartment wasnt on the job constantly chopping off the creeping
ends as they come over the curb. I want to tell you, folks, it's a
frightening sight to see grass--the same kind of grass growing in your
backyard or mine--magnified or maybe I mean multiplied a hundred
times--or maybe more--and coming at you as if it was an enemy--only the
cold steel of the fireman's ax saving you from it.

"While we're waiti