The art dealers and exhibitors were hardly in a frame of mind to appreciate the scene, however, as they filed into the room and at their host's direction, seated themselves on chairs and sofas arranged in rows off to one side. "All here?" asked the Wizard, searching the apprehensive faces before him with his uncertain old eyes. Someone muttered in the affirmative, and the Wizard broke into a high-pitched cackling. It confirmed the worst fears of his visitors. They were dealing with a demented genius who would be beyond the persuasions of reason. "Now I'll get out my little toy," the Wizard declared cheerfully. He hobbled past them to one of the room's several doors, opened it, and pulled forth his easel, which had been mounted on little tires so that feeble as he was, he could maneuver it around quite easily. "Looks like a fancy easel, doesn't it, eh?" he chortled, wheeling it out in front of his audience. "Well, it _is_ an easel, but it's more than just an easel! It's a camera, my friends. Not an ordinary camera--oh, no! It's a three-dimensional molecular camera!" He laughed so hard that he was forced to lean against his bulky creation for support. When he had recovered, he went on more calmly: "I won't confuse you with the technical details, gentlemen. You would hardly understand them anyway. Let me merely assure you that this camera contains a high-speed electronic scanning device which accurately records in its memory the precise structure of each molecule of matter within its range." With this, the Wizard pressed a button and the front part of the easel, which happened to be trained on the main entranceway, began to purr. "You recorded the paintings you were pretending to copy!" one of the dealers blurted out. "Precisely," rejoined the Wizard. "But of course that is just half the story. To record is not to reproduce. Yet my invention is capable of both tasks." He punched another button. The machine stopped purring, and instead, its rear section began to vibrate. "Reproduction!" cried the Wizard, excitedly. "The memorized particles now begin to be duplicated by means of a cybernetic reactor, which with infinite speed and skill, dips into a little reservoir of atomic raw materials, so to speak, and fashions from them the requisite molecules! Thus I produce not merely copies of your vaunted masterpieces, but the masterpieces themselves--complete to the last fragment of aged wood frame and cracked canvas!" "Of course," he added more soberly, "there are a few problems still to be solved. The reproduction is not instantaneous, but takes several minutes to solidify. And then, too," he went on, as if musing to himself, "there is the unfortunate circumstance that my pictures will dissolve within a few months, reverting to their elemental state." * * * * * He perceived that his last remark had greatly heartened his listeners, and snapped at them angrily: