Gerrod smiled. Davis was sufficiently his friend to break an engagement and admit it frankly, and besides Gerrod more than suspected where Davis had gone. "How is Miss Morrison?" he asked. "She's all right," said Davis still more gloomily. "But damn her father!" Gerrod raised his eyebrows and said nothing until they arrived at the cottage with the little built-on laboratory. Evelyn came out at the sound of the motor and shook hands with Davis. "We were beginning to be afraid the competition was too much for us," she said with a smile. Davis looked at her and tried to smile in return, but the result was a dismal failure. "Oh, I'm glad to be here now," he said dolefully. Gerrod made a sign to Evelyn not to refer to Nita again until he could speak to her, and helped Davis carry his two suit cases into the house. "Your usual room, of course," he said cheerfully. "Dinner is served at the same hour as before, and you can do just as you please until you feel like coming down. I'll be in the laboratory." Davis went heavily upstairs, his usually cheerful face suffused with gloom. Evelyn glanced at Gerrod. "What's the matter?" she asked quickly. "Has he quarreled with Nita?" Gerrod shook his head, smiling. "I asked about her, and he answered by damning her father. I suspect he has run against a little paternal opposition." Evelyn's eyes twinkled and she laughed. "Best thing in the world for them," she declared. "When he's ripe for it I'll take a hand. Nita Morrison was a classmate of mine in college and I know her well enough to help along." Gerrod chuckled. "He was like a funeral all the way out. We'll let him alone until he wants to talk, and then you can advise him all you like. But just now I want to get back at those small animals that are raising so much particular Cain." He went into the laboratory and slipped off his coat. He had a number of test tubes full of the silvery animalcules and was examining them under all sorts of test conditions to determine their rate of growth and multiplication. He was rather hopeful that he would be able to demonstrate that after a certain period they would--because of their extremely close packing together--either die from inability to obtain nourishment or be poisoned from their own secretions. He was looking curiously at a phenomenon that always puzzled him when Davis came into the room. His expression was that of a man utterly without hope. "What've you got there?" he asked listlessly. "Some of our silvery little pets," said Gerrod cheerfully. "I'm studying them in their native lair. Have you looked at them under a microscope?" "No." Gerrod smeared a bit of the silvery mess on a glass slide and put it under a microscope. He worked busily for a moment or so, adjusting the focus, and then waved Davis toward the eyepiece. "They're funny little beasts. Look them over."