date of publication 2083 A.D. By William Morrison Lending libraries have been known to make mistakes--but never one so potentially explosive as the time they sent Carrie the wrong volume. _Hypnotism, as anyone who has ever watched a snake charm a bird knows, is far older than homo sapiens. Yet only since the eighteenth century days of Dr. Mesmer has it emerged from priestly mumbo-jumbo into the realm of science. Even today, despite its wide medical usage, hypnotism is not wholly accepted. But in a hundred years...._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe October-November 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It seemed incredible, thought Carrie Samason, that a simple postcard like that could have involved her in so much trouble. If it had been something important, like her getting a new hairdo, or rearranging the living room, or buying a new evening gown, she might have expected all sorts of perfectly amazing results to follow. But from the postcard and the fact that she had sent James instead of going herself, she expected nothing at all. It had come, she remembered, that morning when she was so busy getting Barbara ready to go back to college. All those clothes to try on, and hems to let out and shoes to fit, and right in the middle of everything, "Dear Madam," she was informed, "_The Perfect Hostess_ by Wilhelmina Hoskins, which you reserved, is now being held for you. Please call for it within the next 48 hours." At first Mrs. Samason was annoyed. She had reserved the book three months before and her feeling of need for it had long since died away. Nevertheless, it occurred to her, a book which was in such demand that you had to wait three months for it must be pretty good. It wouldn't hurt to take a look at it. She spoke to James about it, but he was only eleven and there was a baseball game in which he had to pitch and he didn't have any time, and honest, Mom-- "Either you get that book for me or you don't receive your allowance for next week," she said firmly. James got the book for her. But on the way home he stopped off to play baseball and when he finally arrived, she recalled, she hadn't asked him about it. The next morning she remembered it just as he was leaving for school. "I put it in the parlor, Mom," said James and departed. But she couldn't find it in the parlor and there were so many things to do, like cleaning up the mess Barbara had left in her room and fixing the rips in James' pants--she wondered if any other eleven-year-old on earth could rip so much so often--that she forgot all about it for a while. It was as if there had been no postcard, no book. At least that was the way it was for a time.