aithe to send me another fellow; one who will cooeperate."

The Swami thought it over. Here he was with a suite in a good hotel;
with an army lieutenant to look after his earthly needs; on the payroll
of a respectable company; with a ready-made flock of believers; and no
fear of the bunco squad. He had never had it so good. The side money,
for private readings alone, should be substantial.

Further, and he watched me narrowly, I didn't seem to be afraid of the
cylinders. It was probably this which gave the clincher.

"I'll cooeperate," he agreed meekly.

* * * * *

For three days there was nothing. The Swami seemed cooeperative enough.
He called me a couple times a day and reported that the cylinders just
lay around his room. I didn't know what to tell him. I recommended he
read biographies of famous mediums. I recommended fasting, and
breathing, and contemplating self. He seemed dubious, but said he'd try
it.

On the morning of the third day, Sara called me on the intercom and told
me there was another Army lieutenant in her office, and another charac
... another gentleman. I opened my door and went out to Sara's office to
greet them. My first glimpse told me Sara had been right the first time.
He was a character.

The new lieutenant was no more than the standard output from the same
production line as Lieutenant Murphy, but the wizened little old man he
had in tow was from a different and much rarer matrix. As fast as I had
moved, I was none too soon. The character reached over and tilted up
Sara's chin as I was coming through the door.

"Now you're a healthy young wench," he said with a leer. "What are you
doing tonight, baby?" The guy was at least eighty years old.

"Hey, you, pop!" I exclaimed in anger. "Be your age!"

He turned around and looked me up and down.

"I'm younger, that way, than you are, right now!" he snapped.

A disturbance in the outer office kept me from thinking up a retort.
There were some subdued screams, some scuffling of heavy shoes, the
sounds of some running feet as applicants got away. The outer door to
Sara's office was flung open.

Framed in the doorway, breast high, floated the Swami!

* * * * *

He was sitting, cross-legged, on a hotel bathmat. From both front
corners, where they had been attached by loops of twine, there peeked
Auerbach cylinders. Two more rear cylinders were grasped in Lieutenant
Murphy's