w and even
more prodigious stand which made all its former growth appear puny. Bold
and insolent, it had repaired the hackedout areas and risen to such a
height that, except for a narrow strip at the top, all the windows of
the Dinkman house were smothered. Of the garage, only the roof, islanded
and bewildered, was visible, apparently resting on a solid foundation
of devilgrass. It sprawled kittenishly, its deceptive softness faintly
suggesting fur; at once playful and destructive. My optimism of the
night before was dashed; this voracious growth wasnt going to dwindle
away of itself. It would have to be killed, rooted out.

Now the Dinkman lawn wasnt continuous with its neighbors, but, until
now, had been set off by chesthigh hedges. The day before these had
contained and defined the growth, but, overwhelming them in the night,
the grass had swept across and invaded the neat, civilized plots behind,
blurring sharply cut edges, curiously investigating flowerbeds,
barbarously strangling shapely bushes.

But these werent the ravages which upset me; it was reasonable if not
entirely comfortable to see shrubbery, plants and blossoms swallowed up.
Work of men's hands they may be, but they bear the imprimatur of nature.
The cement sidewalk, however, was pure artifice, stamped with the
trademark of man. Indignity and defeat were symbolized by its
overrunning; it was an arrogant defiance, an outrageous challenge
offered to every man happening by. But the grass was not satisfied with
this irreverence: it was already making demands on curbing and gutter.

"Junior, youve got a story now. W R fired three copyboys and a
proofreader he was so mad at himself. Here." Jacson Gootes made a pass
in the air, simulated astonishment at the twentydollar bill which
appeared miraculously between his fingers and put it in my hand.

"Thank you," I replied coolly. "Just what is this for?"

"Faith, me boy, such innocence Ive never seen since I left the old sod.
Tis but a little token of esteem from himself, to repay you for the
trouble of leading me to your scientist, your Frankenstein, your
Burbank. Lead on, my boy. And make it snappy, brother," he added,
"because Ive got to be back here for the rescue."

"Rescue?"

"Yeah. People in the house." He consulted a scrap of paper. "Pinkman--"

"Dinkman."

"Dinkman. Yeah--thanks--no idea how sensitive people are when you get
their names wrong. Dinkmans phoned the firedepartment. Can't get out.