Shaking his head deprecatingly, the twenty-seventh vice-president stood before the desk of the next highest official in the Rear-Sobucks hierarchy. "Well, Wheeler," V.R. clipped without looking up. "What is it this time?" "I'm afraid Netath didn't take too kindly to our gesture." "Netath? Netath?" V.R. milked the name for its significance. "Ogarm Netath. The prime minister of that Gauyuth place. The automatic bather." "Oh, _that_ one." Wheeler handed over the space-o-gram and V.R. muttered through the message: Dear Sir: I'm sure you made a mistake filling my order. You've got to come pick up your shipment right away. We're up to our ears and it's shaking us to pieces. Yours in disappointment, Ogarm Netath, Prime Minister Growling, V.R. dropped an effervescent pill into a glass of water. "You can't get anywhere with these back-planet bumpkins. I doubt that this Netath ever _had_ a bath. Send him a Supplementary Manual of Operating Instructions." Wheeler started for the door. But V.R. called after him. "And bill the prime minister for that article. It'll teach him to show a little bit of appreciation." * * * * * Titus winced before the persistent tremors that came through the floor of his cellar. He made another adjustment on the gravity control deflecting the planetoid's center of pseudomass another few feet. The ground beneath him finally quieted. "Three days," he mumbled, dragging himself up the stairs. Edna received him with hands on hips. "Three days--what?" "Getting things balanced again." "What are you going to do about all that stuff cluttering up our beautiful planetoid?" She was near tears. With Edna dogging his steps, he returned to the veranda, where his julep was now quite thin and warm in the rays of the setting sun. "We'll have to find out where it came from first," he said, staring dismally over the mountains of machinery and grain, the tumbled stacks of crates and barrels and kegs, the lesser rows of wheeled and winged vehicles. "Seems to me," Edna persisted, "that the invoices will show that." She gestured at what remained of the stacks of printed forms. The rest of the slips were strewn over the ground as far as he could see. "Only the _first_ sheet will show the origin--_if_ we could ever find it," Titus explained. He went out to the air car, warmed it up and sent it churning skyward. Near the attenuated top of the atmosphere, he was able to see exactly how much extraneous stuff had been dumped on his world. The main area of disposal seemed to have been within a two-mile radius of the house. An ever-widening helical course, wending its way alternately from night to day, eventually brought him on a great circle that sliced over both poles. Then, with his searchlights still burning, he spiraled inward, covering the other hemisphere. The rest of his world was in primal order. He started for home around the daylight side.