Then he had his shoes changed into a cat. Afterwards, he had the cat changed back into new shoes. His two suits, brought out of the musty closet, were changed to brilliant, cloth-of-gold togas: then, because togas were hardly practical, he changed them back into new, expensive suits. With that beginning, he proceeded to rejuvenate his entire wardrobe. He began adding to it, acquiring some much-needed extra linen and some much-desired sportsclothes, but the process had to be reversed when he noticed the wallpaper was disappearing from the walls, the closet was minus its door, and the air in the room was beginning to reek with ozone. Mrs. Haggerty would never stand for that! And by sheer accident, he learned how to control the robot's influence on surrounding matter. When he had concluded that shoes were a more practical possession than a cat, he had accidentally typed the phrase: SHOES FROM THE CAT. And--with the glow, click, crack, and ozone smell--the cat had become a new pair of shoes. If he hadn't mentioned the cat, the robot might have jerked out one of the dresser drawers and made it into a pair of new shoes.... He sat at the writing table, staring at the metal globe set before him. _It's like the Midas touch_, he mused reflectively. Old King Midas, sitting in his treasure rooms, watching gold coins dribble through his fingers; the old King had thought it would be wonderful if he could turn everything he touched into gold--until he could, and finally touched his young daughter-- * * * * * Joe pushed back his chair, and walked over to the bed. He sat down and lifted the telephone receiver. Swiftly, he dialed the Delaware number. "Hello?" It was the soft, feminine voice again. "Barbara?" His tone was uncertain. "Yes. Who's this?" "Joe Linger," he said. "Barbara, I know you've never met me, but I don't know anyone else who can help me. I've got to talk to someone--maybe if I could talk to you, I'd be able to work things out? Could--could I come over to see you?" "Well-l-l-l," she replied doubtfully, "I really don't--" "Is someone else there?" he asked anxiously. "Someone else in the family?" "Do you want to speak to father?" "Yes--please!" "Just a minute--" As he waited, Joe laid down the receiver and returned to the table for the robot. He brought it back to the bed, sat down, placed it in his lap, and swiftly typed out: BARBARA'S ADDRESS. A gruff voice rattled faintly from the receiver. "Hello? Hello, who's this?" There was a swirling blue glow and a click. Beneath the lens, at the top of the keyboard, was Barbara's address. Joe picked up the receiver. "My name is Joe Linger," he said. "Sir, I don't know your name, but I thought I ought to see you. It's about something your daughter has become involved in without her knowledge. I thought you ought to know--" "What?" The voice spoke sharply. "What're you talking about?"