In another day a few things had been learned. There was now no doubt about the poisonous nature of Venus. The infuriating thing about it was that the creatures native to Venus thrived about them on food that would put out the lights for good for any Earth-born animal. But that was not quite so hard to take when they found that the soil was suitable for Earth crops. That left nothing to get excited about. So they thought, until Venus turned stubborn. No one knew exactly how stubborn Venus could get until the garden location was being cleared of weeds. They had gone over about fifty feet of the clearing, working earnestly and not bothering to look back, when one of the men--a lanky individual called Henry Higgins--turned to look back, put one grimy fist on his hip, hunched his shoulders, stuck out his chin and hollered, "Damn!" The others turned and looked surprised. Not that Higgins' well-known exaggerative ways any longer surprised them, but what Higgins was looking at might surprise anyone, including the botanist in Flaunders. The eight-or-ten feet of ground directly behind the men was clear of weeds. But at the far edge of this cleared space little green shoots were thrusting inquisitive noses above the ground. Beyond these were one-inch plants, then two-inch, and four and six and eight, on up. They formed a slope up to the edge of the clearing. "Damn!" Higgins said again, and tossed away his spade. Someone laughed uncertainly. The others scratched their heads, cast blank stares at one another and forgot how to keep their mouths closed. "Just what in blazes do you make of that?" McBride asked of Flaunders. Flaunders could be quite an optimist when he wanted to; he was one of those rare persons who seem to grow stronger with each failure. At least on the surface. "Only what I see," he replied, not willing to show consternation. "Amazingly rapid growth, but they're still only weeds. It's just going to take a little applied science." "Maybe." McBride didn't like it. "But I've done a little farming in my time; know what it is to worry a chunk of farmland out of the raw. And the nature of Earth is dead compared to this." "Bunk!" Flaunders scoffed. "Work, certainly. But we'll be eating fresh corn in two months!" McBride looked around, seeing little you wouldn't see on Earth. What's wrong with me? he thought. It's my place to keep the spirits of the men up, not to dampen them. Flaunders is right, of course. This stuff is still only vegetation, even if it _is_ styled after Jack's beanstalk. Jack chopped down the beanstalk and killed the giant. Our giant is the threat of starvation, but killing it is still a matter of stalk-chopping. If Jack could do it so can we. * * * * *