Doctor McPherson stared down at the thin body on the floor and walked out of the room. He left the jar where it had rolled on the floor of mush. I was quite happy. It must have been a laboratory of some sort. There were refreshing sources all over the room. I was still tasting and testing here and there when the doctor returned with another pair of mush-men--humans, I mean--and they had a long conversation in their heads about the late scientist and the contents of the jar. Finally, they picked up the jar with a long rod of static energy--some metal, I suppose. They took it away. Unfortunately, this time it seems I had eaten a physicist working for the government. More and more mush shapes of humans clustered round Doctor McPherson, and one came hurrying up from another laboratory. "Raw ozone," he thought as he came. "This fellow needs watching. Couldn't get ozone like that except in space. And now he happens to be around when we lose our top physicist. And that's the second accident of the day. Yes, _sir_, this McPherson needs watching! You can never tell where sabotage will break out." He grasped the doctor's arm and said something in a faint wave of mush that I could not see clearly enough to understand. "Me? Ridiculous! I was just...." thought McPherson. But he shrugged and turned away. Well, I couldn't leave him in a mess like that, so I followed Doctor McPherson home. I had to explain. But how? And there was the problem. How can a being based on energy, like me, communicate with a being based on matter, like him? Obviously, I had to signal in some way, give some signs of life that would be intelligible to him. He was sitting in a chair-shape of strand energy interwoven together, and he was thinking gloomy thoughts. He flicked on the televiewer. And there was the answer. * * * * * I found the input flow, followed it into the cathode tube and ate the pictures off the screen in a discriminating manner. They were too small and scattered to make a mouthful, but that wasn't the point. I was able to signal to him! I ate pieces of the picture coming through and left regular black holes on the tube face, dot, dash, dash-dash-dot. Doctor McPherson stood up, approached the set, reached in his pocket for a bottle and took two pills. And then he switched off the set and went to bed. "Now my eyes are playing up. Liver," his thoughts trailed away. After awhile, I saw a better answer. One man would be scared to do anything even if I did get in touch with him. What I needed was a larger scale. If several dozen mush ... several dozen people started speculating about me, they would lend each other moral support and they would start looking for my signs. Then I could tell them all about the little error of appetite.