What he told me was what I was thinking: Our unidentified friend had some way of changing probability levels. I mean, all the molecules of air under a woman's skirt _could_ suddenly decide to move in the same direction--or all the molecules in a patch of flooring _could_ lose their surface friction--it just wasn't likely. If you could _make_ it likely--there wasn't any limit. You could make honest dice turn up a thousand sevens in a row. You could run a car without an engine; make rain or fair weather; reduce the crime index to zero; keep a demagogue from getting re-elected.... Well, if all that was true, I wanted in. And I didn't have the ghost of a chance--I was out of touch; I didn't know anybody. Ray knew everybody. * * * * * "Spread out, folks!" said a bullhorn voice. It was Samwitz, of course, standing on a bench at the far wall. Kosmo Samwitz, the Flushing Nightingale; not one of the Medusa crowd, usually--a nice enough guy, and a hard-working committeeman, but the ordinary Manhattan meeting hall isn't big enough to hold his voice. "Spread out--make an equal distance between you. That way we can't get into any fights." People started following his orders, partly because they made sense, partly because, otherwise, he'd go on bellowing. "That's good--that's good," said Samwitz. "All right, this meeting is hereby called to order. The chair will entertain suggestions about what the nature of these here phenomenon are...." Ray showed signs of wanting to get down and join the caucus; he loves parliamentary procedure better than life itself; so I said hastily, "Let's get down with the crowd, Ray. We can't see much better up here, anyway." He stiffened. "You go if you want to," he said quietly. "I'm staying here, where I can keep an eye on things." The chandelier was now describing stately circles, causing a good deal of ducking and confusion, but the meeting was getting on with its business, namely, arguing about whether to confirm Kosmo by acclamation or nominate and elect a chairman in the usual way. That subject, I figured, was good for at least twenty minutes. I said, "Ray, will you tell me the truth if I ask you something?" "Maybe." He grinned. "Are you doing this?" He threw his head back and chuckled, "No-o, I'm not doing it." He looked at me shrewdly, still grinning. "Is that why you were looking for me?" I admitted it humbly. "It was just a foolish idea," I said. "Nobody we know could possibly--" "_I_ don't know about that," he said, squinting thoughtfully. "Ah, come on, Ray." He was affronted. "Why not? We've got some pretty good scientific brains in Medusa, you know. There's Gamble--he's an atomic physicist. There's Don Bierce; there's Duchamp; there's--" "I know," I said, "I know, but where would any of them have got hold of a thing like _this_?" "They could have invented it," he said stoutly.