Elvin clenched his fists in futile anger, but he kept his voice steady. "Is anybody else in the tenth grade reading up on hypnotism?" "I suppose so," Donald admitted. "I'm not sure. Why don't you ask in class tomorrow?" "It occurs to me that a clever hypnotist could be responsible for what happened at school today." "Some of it; isn't that rather obvious? We'd like to go on talking, Mr. Elvin, honest. But we have a lot of work to finish. It'll be bedtime soon enough." "But you know about hypnotism, don't you?" "We know how it's done, yes, and its limitations so far as genuine telepathy--" "Who created that ridiculous scene in the auditorium?" Elvin's voice rose as he tried to put on pressure. "I wouldn't worry about the principal, Mr. Elvin, if I were you. He's always been a neurotic." "Mighty big words you're using these days, Donald. Where'd you hear them?" "The principal is a little man--mentally, I mean. He's afraid of people because he isn't sure of himself. So he makes himself a tin god, a dictator, just to show the rest of us--" "I want to know where you picked all this up!" Patiently the twins began to talk, taking turns at delivering an improvised lecture in psychology, shot through with an array of highly technical terms. As Elvin listened to their monotonous voices, he slowly felt very tired. His head began to ache as his anger ebbed. More than anything else, he wanted a long night's sleep. Yawning wearily, he thanked the boys--for what, he wasn't quite sure--and went up to his room. * * * * * Some time before dawn Elvin awoke for a moment. He thought he heard the sound of a motor in the driveway, but he was too sleepy to get up to see what it was. Two hours later he awoke to chaos. Mrs. Schermerhorn was shaking his shoulder. He looked up into her white, terrified face. Her hand trembled as she clutched her quilted robe close to her throat. "Mr. Elvin, they'll need your help. Mr. Schermerhorn's waiting for you." He shook sleep out of his mind sluggishly. "Why? What's happened?" "The bank's gone. Just--just gone!" He blinked and shook his head again. "I--I don't think I heard you right, Mrs. Schermerhorn." "There's a jungle where the bank used to be. With tigers in it." She laughed wildly for a moment, but the laughter dissolved into tears and she reached for the bottle of smelling salts in the pocket of her robe. "Most of them have been shot by this time, I think. The tigers. Think of it, Mr. Elvin--tigers in San Benedicto!" She began to laugh again. When Elvin joined Pop Schermerhorn and the twins in the station wagon, Mrs. Schermerhorn followed him out of the house with a thermos of hot coffee. As she put it in the car, she saw the rifles they were taking with them. She began to weep again, clinging desperately to the side of the car. Suddenly the twins knelt beside her, and threw their arms around her neck. "We're sorry, Mom," David whispered. "Terribly sorry."