It was just then that Lisbeth and Baldy Green walked in on us. Lisbeth is my daughter. She’s a nice girl. And good looking--a mop of unruly, wavy brown hair, and a figure with curves in all the right places. She wants to be a career girl--a news photographer, newspaper reporter of the sob sister style maybe, with a big by-line and write feature articles; and maybe hold down the City Desk job and publish the newspaper. A few little odds and ends like that. Baldy is a cartoonist on one of the big dailies. Middle aged, with a wife and six kids. A good friend of mine; and he had just gotten Lisbeth a job on his paper. Neither he nor Lisbeth had ever met Porky Jenks. I introduced them now. And then--because you had to do something to explain Porky’s frightened aspect--and maybe I didn’t look too normal either--I thought I’d better explain the problem in hand. Well, as you can imagine, Lisbeth and Baldy were pretty nonplussed. And skeptical. But Porky, more gloomy than ever at all this discussion, waved away their doubts. “Then let me show you,” he declared. “Pick anybody out there on the street. Anybody at all.” He shoved his armchair up to my open window, with us three standing around behind him. “Will it--will it hurt him?” Lisbeth asked. “It won’t hurt Porky,” I said. “But it might very easily hurt the other fellow.” I must admit the thing had me pretty jittery. I could begin to see the possibilities of what might happen. The hazards, so to speak. I gripped Porky by the shoulder. “Now listen,” I told him. “You’ve evidently had a lot of luck so far. You haven’t killed anybody, have you?” He gulped. “Killed anybody? Oh my heavens no! How could I--” “Listen--suppose while you--er--have possession of some stranger--suppose you got killed?” I suggested. “Or committed suicide for instance?” “Oh please--please be careful,” Lisbeth put in. “It isn’t Porky I’m worried about, it’s the other fellow,” I said. “Look here, Porky--it only takes you a second to--withdraw, as you put it?” “Why--yes. Less than that, maybe. Instantaneous maybe--” “And so you’d be sitting here in your chair, but the other fellow would be dead.” “Don’t quibble,” Baldy said. “Let’s see him do it. That’s the important part.” Baldy also has a good imagination, which is why his cartoons are so successful. “If he can do a thing like that, it’s a gift,” Baldy added with mounting enthusiasm. “Why, we can capitalize on it in a thousand ways--maybe make a fortune--” “I just want to get rid of it,” Porky said. “But here goes--just so you won’t think I’m crazy.” Well, he showed us, all right. A meek-looking old woman with a shawl over her head and an umbrella under her arm happened to come along, and at the busy intersection just under my window she stood looking confused, as though afraid of the traffic. “Try her,” Baldy suggested. “She looks like a weak character. You can take possession of a weak one better, can’t you?”