"Smithy, my dear old friend," he said with mock humility. "This is no time for us to quarrel. Let us face the facts candidly. You have been spying on my school--and I in turn have been spying on yours. I know, for instance, that when your students don't behave the way their heredity charts predict you often use hypno-therapy to change their thought-lines, and force them to conform. Is that any less fair than what I do?" Smithy sighed. "I guess not, my friend. No, wait. I will go farther than that. It is not a matter of guessing. I am quite certain about it. We are a couple of aging frauds, struggling selfishly along, playing with the lives of these children solely to keep our jobs. Perhaps we should--" "Nevertheless, we have a problem," interrupted Possy. "It's a problem that won't be solved by our becoming senile idiots. Get your mind back on Herbux, and help me. I feel this is a most desperate situation. If it gets beyond just the two of us, we are likely to be thoroughly investigated. Then goodness knows what would happen." "But why? The child can do no real harm. Suppose he does 'destruct' an animal or two? There are plenty more. And sooner or later they would die of natural causes, anyway. And it's unthinkable that he could ever do it to--to people ..." Smithy paused, obviously struck by a startling thought. He turned to Herbux. "Boy," he said, quite sternly. "Come here." Herbux obeyed, advancing to within a foot of the old doctor and facing him squarely. "Look me in the eyes," Smithy commanded. Questioningly, Herbux began to stare at Smithy. "Well," Smithy said, after a time, "turn it on." A set look came over Herbux's face. His lips were compressed and a thin dew of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Possy stood aghast, slowly comprehending what his old friend Smithy was doing. He was actually risking his life--or so he believed--to prove that the child could not destruct a human being. He wanted to stop the boy, but he could not move from where he stood. Suddenly Herbux broke and turned away. He began to sob. "It's no use!" he cried. "I can't do it. I just can't do it ..." Smithy went to him and put an arm on his shoulders. "Tell me, boy," he exclaimed. "What do you mean? Do you mean that you can't _bring yourself_ to do it, or that it is physically impossible?" Herbux just stood there, his head bowed, crying wildly. "I just can't do it," he repeated, sounding now completely heart-broken. Possy, coming alive again, said soothingly, "Don't cry, son. It's not bad. It's good, that you can't do it." Herbux whirled around, facing Possy, his face inflamed with a sudden rage. "But I will," he screamed, "I will do it! I will! _When I grow up!_" Transcriber's Note: