rry
for Feckle! Hurry, hurry, hurry, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle,
Feckle, Feckle...."

It stopped eventually. Burckhardt licked his lips. He started to say
to his wife, "Maybe we ought to call the police about--" when the
speakers erupted again. It caught him off guard; it was intended to
catch him off guard. It screamed:

"Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle. Cheap
freezers ruin your food. You'll get sick and throw up. You'll get sick
and die. Buy a Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle! Ever take a piece of
meat out of the freezer you've got and see how rotten and moldy it is?
Buy a Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle. Do you want to eat
rotten, stinking food? Or do you want to wise up and buy a Feckle,
Feckle, Feckle--"

That did it. With fingers that kept stabbing the wrong holes,
Burckhardt finally managed to dial the local police station. He got a
busy signal--it was apparent that he was not the only one with the
same idea--and while he was shakingly dialing again, the noise outside
stopped.

He looked out the window. The truck was gone.

* * * * *

Burckhardt loosened his tie and ordered another Frosty-Flip from the
waiter. If only they wouldn't keep the Crystal Cafe so _hot_! The new
paint job--searing reds and blinding yellows--was bad enough, but
someone seemed to have the delusion that this was January instead of
June; the place was a good ten degrees warmer than outside.

He swallowed the Frosty-Flip in two gulps. It had a kind of peculiar
flavor, he thought, but not bad. It certainly cooled you off, just as
the waiter had promised. He reminded himself to pick up a carton of
them on the way home; Mary might like them. She was always interested
in something new.

He stood up awkwardly as the girl came across the restaurant toward
him. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in Tylerton.
Chin-height, honey-blonde hair and a figure that--well, it was all
hers. There was no doubt in the world that the dress that clung to her
was the only thing she wore. He felt as if he were blushing as she
greeted him.

"Mr. Burckhardt." The voice was like distant tomtoms. "It's wonderful
of you to let me see you, after this morning."

He cleared his throat. "Not at all. Won't you sit down, Miss--"

"April Horn," she murmured, sitting down--beside him, not where he had
pointed on the other side of the table. "Call me April, won't you?"

She was