News from the ends of the earth, in audio-picture form, flashed before their view; but only the reports on the strange meteors from the tail of 1947, IV--so designated by astronomers because it was the fourth comet discovered that year--held their interest. Nothing since the great Antarctic gold rush of '33 had so gripped the public as the dramatic arrival and startling behavior of this mysterious visitant from outer space. Jim paused a moment, halfway across the Plaza, to take a look at the screen himself. The substance of the Tokyo dispatch, supplemented by pictures of Japanese scientists working over the baffling orange spheres, had just gone off. Now came a flash from Berlin, in which a celebrated German chemist was seen directing an effort to cut into one of them with an acid drill. It failed and the scientist turned to declare to the world that the substance seemed more like crystal than metal and was harder than diamond. Jim tarried no longer. He knew where he was going. It was still early and Joan would be up--Joan Wentworth, daughter of Professor Stephen Wentworth, who held the chair of astro-lithology at Hartford University. It was as their guest at the observatory last night that he had seen 1947, IV at close range, as the earth passed through her golden train with that awesome, unparalleled display of fireworks. Now he'd have the pleasure of seeing Joan again, and at the same time get the low-down from her father on those confounded seeds--or eggs, rather. If anyone could crack one of them, he'd bet Professor Wentworth could. So, hastening toward the base of Plaza Airport, he took an elevator to ramp-level 118, where his auto-plane was parked, and five minutes later was winging his way to Hartford. * * * * * Throttle wide, Jim did the eighty miles to the Connecticut capital in a quarter of an hour. Then, banking down through the warm June night onto the University landing field, he retracted the wings of his swift little bus and motored to the foot of Observatory Hill. Parking outside the Wentworth home, he mounted the steps and rang the bell. It was answered by a slim, appealing girl of perhaps twenty-two. Hers was a wistful, oval face, with a small, upturned nose; and her clear hazel eyes were the sort that always seem to be enjoying some amusing secret of their own. Her hair was a soft brown, worn loose to the shoulders, after the style then in vogue. "Joan!" blurted Jim. "What brings you here at such an hour, Jimmy Carter?" she asked with mock severity. "You!" "I don't believe you." "What then have I come for?" "You've come to interview father about those meteorites." "Nonsense! That's purely incidental--a mere by-product, you might say." "Yes, you might--but I wouldn't advise you to say it to father." "All right, I won't," he promised, as she led him into the library. Professor Wentworth rose as they entered and laid aside some scientific book he had been reading.