"I know what to do," he said, "but I would have to go back to the lab. Dad would have to let me have his staff and all sorts of equipment. And he won't do it." "If he thinks more of his money than he does of his own son," Mrs. Burroughs said, "then he's an unnatural father." But Jack made us promise not to get in touch with you. Still, people are beginning to talk. The man from the electric company couldn't find the meter yesterday, because it is attached to the middle of the outside wall and has vanished. Mr. Gretch, we are parents and we feel that you will not hesitate a moment to do whatever is necessary to get Jack back into shape. So, despite our promise, we are sending Jack to you by registered parcel post, air mail. He doesn't mind the cardboard mailing tube he is rolled up in as he has been sleeping in it, finding it more comfortable than being pinned to the sheets. Jack is a fine boy, sir, and we hope to hear soon that he is back to normal and doing the work he wants to do. Very truly yours, W. Burroughs P.S. When Jack figures out the re-integration principle, we would appreciate his fixing our house. We get along as usual, but it makes us nervous to live in a house that, strictly speaking, has no insides. W.B. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Whiskaboom, by Alan Arkin