The physicist leaned over and tapped the papers in Peterson's hands. "We've subjected that crazy stuff to every source and kind of high and low energy radiation we can produce here and that means just about everything short of triggering an H-device on it. We fired alphas, gammas, betas, the works, in wide dispersion, concentrated beam and just plain exposure. "Not so much as one neutron of any of them went beyond the glass surrounding that forsaken slop. "They curved around it, Floyd. They curved around it." The physicist leaned his head on the desk. "Nothing should react like that," he sobbed. He struggled for composure as Peterson stared dazedly at the test sheets. "That's not the whole story," the physicist continued. He walked to Peterson's side and extracted the two all-white sheets. "This," he said brokenly, "represents a sheet of photographic paper dipped in that crud and then allowed to dry before being bombarded with radiation. And this," he waved the other sheet, "is a piece of photo paper in the center of a panel protected by another sheet of ordinary typing paper coated with that stuff." Peterson looked up at him. "A radiation-proof liquid," he said in awed tones. The other man nodded dumbly. "Eight years of university," the physicist whispered to himself. "Six years in summer schools. Four fellowships. Ten years in research. "All shot to hell," he screamed, "by a stinking, hayburning cow." Peterson patted him gently on the shoulder. "It's all right, Fred. Don't take it so hard. It could be worse." "How?" he asked hollowly. "Have this stuff milked from a kangaroo?" * * * * * Back in his office, Peterson waved off a dozen calls while he gave orders for fresh quantities of the blue milk to be rushed to the Argonne laboratories for further radiation tests and confirmation of the Nevada results. He ordered a test set up for the brown fluid for the following morning and then took a call from the AEC commissioner. "Yes, John," he said, "we've got something." Operation Milkmaid was in full swing! The following morning observers again clustered about the monitoring room as Peterson prepared to duplicate the tests, using a sample of the Melody's brownish milk. There was the same involuntary remote cringing as the first drop of egg fell towards the beaker, but this time, Peterson forced himself to watch. Again the gentle plop was heard through the amplifiers and nothing more. A similar clouding spread through the already murky fluid and when the entire contents of one egg had been added, the beaker took on a solid, brown and totally opaque appearance. The scientists watched the glass container for several minutes, anticipating another possible delayed blast.