--if I do not take too much upon myself in judging a
fellowcreature--would be to bury Albert Weener."

I remained unmoved by her tirade. "When you returned from Whitney you
told me there remained only details to be worked out. About how long do
you think it will be before you have a workable compound?"

She burst into a laugh and took out her toothpick to point it at me. "Go
and put your penny in another slot if you want an answer to an idiot
question like that. How long? A day, a month, a year, ten years."

"In ten years--" I began.

"Exactly," she said and put away the toothpick.

_83._ I phoned Stuart Thario to fly over right away for a conference.
"General," I began, "we'll have to start looking ahead and making
plans."

He hid his mustache with the side of his forefinger. "Don't quite
understand, Albert--have details here of activities ... next three
years ..."

I pressed the buzzer for my secretary. "Bring General Thario some
refreshment," I ordered.

The command was not only familiar on the occasion of his visits, but
evidently anticipated, for she appeared in a moment with a trayful of
bottles.

"Bad habit of yours, Albert, teetotalism ... makes the brain cloudy ...
insidious." He took a long drink. "Very little real bourbon left ...
European imitation vile ... learning to like Holland gin." He drank
again.

"To get back to the business of making plans, General," I urged gently.

"Not one of those people getting worried about the Grass?"

"Not worried. Just trying to look ahead. I can't afford to be caught
napping."

"Well, well," he said, "can't pull another South American this time."

"No, no--and besides, I'm not concerned with money."

"Now, Albert, don't tell me youve finally got enough."

"This is not the time to be avaricious," I reproved him. "If the Grass
continues to spread--and there seems to be little doubt it will--"

"All of New Zealand's North Island was finished this morning," he
interrupted.

"I heard it myself; anyway, that's the point. As the Grass advances
there will be new hordes of refugees--"

He was certainly in an impatient mood this morning, for he interrupted
me again. "New markets for concentrates," he suggested.

I looked at him pityingly. Was the old man's mind slipping? I wondered
if it would be necessary to replace him. "General," I said gently, "with
rare exceptions these people will have nothing but worthless currency."

"Goods. Labor."

"Have you