One more pass, and Ed Symes's arms were at his sides, his legs stretched straight out. Only his stomach projected above the rigid lines of his body. Forrester thought he had never seen a more pleasing sight. Dorothy gasped. "Is he--is he dead?" Forrester looked at her reprovingly. "Dead? Now what would I do that for, after he's been so helpful and all?" "I don't know," she muttered. "Well," Forrester said, "he's not dead. He's just in stasis--in a state of totally suspended animation. As soon as I take the spell off, he'll be all right. But I don't think I'll take it off just yet. I've got plans for my little target-tosser." He reached over and touched the stiff body. It seemed to rise a fraction of an inch, floating on the tips of the grass. The wind stirred it a little, but it didn't float away. "I took some of his weight off," Forrester explained, "so he'll be a little easier to handle." Now Ed Symes was behaving as if he were a statue carved out of cork. With a quick flip, Forrester turned the statue over. The effect was exactly what he wanted. Ed did not touch the grass at any point except one: the point where his protuberant stomach most protruded. Fore and aft, the rest of him was balanced stiffly in the air. Forrester gazed at the sight, feeling fulfilled. "Now," he said with a note of decision in his voice, "we are going to play Spin-the-Bottle!" The girls giggled and laughed. "You mean with him?" Bette said. Forrester sighed. "That's right," he said patiently. "With him." He got into position and looked up at the girls. "This one's just for practice, so we can all see how it works." He gave Symes's extended foot a little push. _Whee!_ he thought. Round and round the gentleman went, spinning quietly on his stomach, revolving in a merry fashion while the girls and Forrester watched silently. At last he slowed and stopped, his nose pointing at Bette and his toes at Dorothy. "Oh, my!" Dorothy said. "He's pointing at me!" "He is not!" Bette said decisively. "His head points my way!" "But he--" "Temper, temper," Forrester said. "No arguments. That one didn't count, anyhow--it was just to see how he worked. And I do think he works very nicely, don't you?" "Oh, yes, Lord Dionysus," Kathy said. There was the same undertone in her voice, as if she were silently laughing at everything. She was, he told himself, an extremely unlikable young woman. The other girls agreed in a chorus. They were still studying the stiff body of Ed Symes. His stomach had made a little depression in the grass as he whirled, and he was now nicely bedded down for a real spin. Forrester rubbed his hands together. "Fine," he said. "Now, all of you are going to be judges." "Me, too?" Bette asked. Forrester nodded. "The head will be the determining factor. If our little Mr. Bottle's head points to any one of you, that is the one I'll choose first." "See?" Bette said. "I told you it was his head."