"Still in research and that sort of thing?" I asked. "You always were a brain, Greek. I can't tell you how much I've envied you creative fellows. I'm in sales myself. Got a little territory right here that's a mint, Greek. A mint. If I only knew where I could lay my hands on a little capital to expand it the way--But I won't bore you with shop talk. What's your line these days?" "I'm in transmutation," he said clearly, and passed out face down on the table. Now nobody ever called me a dope--other things, yes, but not a dope. I knew what transmutation meant. Lead into gold, tin into platinum, all that line of goodies. And accordingly the next morning, after a certain amount of Bromo and black coffee, I asked around the campus and found out that Greco had a place of his own not far from the campus. That explained why he'd turned up for the reunion. I'd been wondering. I borrowed cab fare from Old Pudge Detweiler and headed for the address I'd been given. It wasn't a home. It was a beat-up factory and it had a sign over the door: T. GRECO _Plant Foods & Organic Supplies_ * * * * * Since it was Sunday, nobody seemed to be there, but I pushed open the door. It wasn't locked. I heard something from the basement, so I walked down a flight of steps and looked out into a rather smelly laboratory. There was the Greek. Tall, thin, wide-eyed and staggering, he appeared to be chasing butterflies. I cleared my throat, but he didn't hear me. He was racing around the laboratory, gasping and muttering to himself, sweeping at empty air with what looked to me like an electric toaster on a stick. I looked again and, no, it wasn't an electric toaster, but exactly what it was defied me. It appeared to have a recording scale on the side of it, with a needle that flickered wildly. I couldn't see what he was chasing. The fact was that, as far as I could see, he wasn't chasing anything at all. You have to get the picture: Here was Greco, racing around with one eye on the scale and one eye on thin air; he kept bumping into things, and every now and then he'd stop, and stare around at the gadgets on the lab benches, and maybe he'd throw a switch or turn a dial, and then he'd be off again. He kept it up for ten minutes and, to tell you the truth, I began to wish that I'd made some better use of Pudge Detweiler's cab fare. The Greek looked as though he'd flipped, nothing less. But there I was. So I waited. And by and by he seemed to get whatever it was he was looking for and he stopped, breathing heavily. I said, "Hi there, Greek." He looked up sharply. "Oh," he said, "Old Virgie." He slumped back against a table, trying to catch his breath. "The little devils," he panted. "They must have thought they'd got away that time. But I fixed them!" "Sure you did," I said. "You bet you did. Mind if I come in?"