tamorphizer; when I find the balancing
blindspot I shall know not only the second element which the Grass
cannot absorb but one which will be poison to it."

"I'm not a chemist, Miss Francis," I said, "but it seems to me Ive heard
there are a limited number of elements."

"There are. And three states for each element. And an infinite number of
conditions governing their application. What's the matter--arent your
trained seals performing?"

"All the research laboratories of Consolidated Pemmican are going night
and day."

"Then what the devil are you hounding me for? Let them find the
counteragent."

"Two heads are better than one."

"Nonsense. Two blockheads are worse than one insofar as they tend to
regard each other as a source of wisdom. I shall conquer the Grass, I
alone, I, Josephine Spencer Francis--and as soon as possible. Now you
have all the data in its most specific form. And I shall accomplish this
because I must and not because I love Albert Weener or care a
litmuspaper whether or not his offal is swallowed up. I have done what I
have done (God forgive me) and I shall undo it, but the matter is
between me and a Larger Accountant than the clerk who signs your monthly
checks."

"What do you think about temporary protective measures in the
meanwhile?"

"What the devil do you mean, Weener? 'Temporary protective measures'?
What euphuistic gibberish is this?"

I outlined briefly my butler's plan of vertical cities. Miss Francis
startled me with a laugh resembling the burst of machinegun fire.
"Someone's been pulling your leg, poor terrified Maecenas. Or else youre
befuddled with too many _Thrilling Wonder Scientifictions_. Pipes into
the stratosphere! Watersupply piped in through concrete walls! Doesnt
your mad inventor know the seeds would find these apertures in an
instant?"

"Oh, those are possibly minor flaws which could be remedied."

"Well, go and remedy them and leave me to my work. Or pin your faith on
substantialities instead of flights of fancy."

I went up to London, my mind full of a thousand problems. I had caught
the economical British habit of using the trains, conserving the petrol
and tyres on my car. The first thing I saw on the Marylebone platform
was the crude picture in green chalk of a stolon of _Cynodon dactylon_.
What idiot, I thought as I irritably rubbed at it with the sole of my
shoe, what feebleminded creature has been let loose to do a thing like
this? The brittle chal