As his hand touched the dial to switch it off, something new caught Ken's attention. "A curious story is coming in from all parts of the country this morning," the announcer said. "Auto mechanics are reporting a sudden, unusually brisk business. No one knows the reason, but there seems to be a virtual epidemic of car breakdowns. Some garagemen are said to be blaming new additives in gasoline and lubricating oil. It is reported that one major oil company is undertaking an investigation of these charges, but, in the meantime, no one really seems to have a good answer. "In connection with the comet, however, from widely scattered areas comes the report that people are even blaming these engine failures on our poor, old comet. In the Middle Ages they blamed comets for everything from soured cream to fallen kingdoms. Maybe this modern age isn't so different, after all. At any rate, this comet will no doubt be happy to get back into open space, where there are no Earthmen to blame it for all their accidents and shortcomings!" Ken switched off the radio and lay back on the pillow. That was a real choice one--blaming the comet for car breakdowns! Page Granny Wicks! The breakdowns were curious, however. There was no good reason why there should be a sudden rash of them. He wondered if they had actually occurred, or if the story was just the work of some reporter trying to make something out of his own inability to get into a couple of garages that were swamped by the usual weekend rush. This was most likely the case. However it didn't explain why his own car had suddenly conked out, Ken thought irritably. He'd have to get it over to Art Matthews' garage as soon as school was out. At school that morning there was little talk of anything but the comet. After physics class, Ken was met by Joe Walton and three other members of the science club, of which Ken was president. "We want a special meeting," said Joe. "We've just had the most brilliant brainstorm of our brief careers." "It had better be more brilliant than the last one," said Ken. "That drained the club treasury of its last peso." "I was watching the comet last night, and I began to smell the dust of its tail as the Earth moved into it...." "You must have been smelling something a lot more powerful than comet dust." "I said to myself--why don't we collect some of that stuff and bottle it and see what it's made of? What do you think?" Joe asked eagerly. Ken scowled. "Just how many molecules of material from the comet's tail do you think there are in the atmosphere over Mayfield right now?" "How do I know? Six--maybe eight." Ken laughed. "You're crazy, anyway. What have you got in mind?"