She strode past the stove, which had gathered new accreta during the night and looked in the cloudy mirror as though searching for a misplaced thought. "No doubt, Weener, no doubt. But before all these romantically streamlined things eventuate there must be a hiatus. In my haste I overlooked a detail yesterday, trivial maybe--perhaps vital. I should never have let you start out so soon." This was bad; I was struggling now for my job and for the future of the Metamorphizer. "Miss Francis, I don't know what you mean by mistakes or trivial details or how I could have started out too soon, but whatever the trouble is I'm sure it can be smoothed out easily. Sometimes, you know, obstacles which appear tremendous prove to be nothing at all in experienced hands. I myself have had occasion to put things right for a number of different concerns. Really, Miss Francis, you mustnt let opportunity slip through your fingers. Believe me, I know what a big thing your discovery is--Ive seen what it does." She turned those too sharp eyes on me discomfortingly. "Ah," she said, "so soon?" "Well," I began, "it certainly acted quickly ..." I stopped when I saw she wasnt hearing me. She sat down in the only empty chair and drummed her fingers against big white teeth. "Even under a microscope," she muttered, "no perceptible reaction for fortyeight hours. Laboratory conditions? Or my own idiocy? But I approximated ..." Her voice trailed off and for a full minute the absolute silence of the kitchen was broken only by the melodramatic dripping of a tap. She made an effort to pull herself together and addressed me in her old abrupt way. "Corn or wheat?" "Ay?" "You said youve seen what it does. I asked you if you had applied it to corn or wheat--or what?" She was looking at me so fixedly I had a slight difficulty in putting my words in good order. "It was neither, mam. I applied some of the stuff to a lawn--" "A _lawn_, Weener?" "Y-yes, mam." "But I said--" "General instructions, Miss Francis. I'm sure you didnt mean to tie my hands." Another long silence. "No, Weener--I didnt mean to tie your hands." "Well, as I was saying, I applied some of the stuff to a lawn. Exactly according to your instructions--" "In the irrigation water?" "Well, not precisely. But just as good, I assure you." "Go on." "A terrible lawn. All shot. Last night. This morning--" "Stop. What kind of grass? Or don't you know?" "Of course I know," I answered indignantly. Did she think I was an idiot? "It was devilgrass." "Ah." She rubbed the back of her hand against her singularly smooth cheek. "Bermuda. _Cynodon dactylon._ Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I have been so blind? Did I think only the corn would be affected and not the weeds in the furrows? Or that something like this might not happen?" I didnt feel like wasting any more time listening to her soliloquy. "This morning," I continued, "it was as green--" "All right, Weener, spare me your poetry. Show it to me."