"I've decided that it's better to be lovesick than dead," I explained, getting up from the table. * * * * * I went to the phone in the corner of the dining-room and dialed Dr. McQueen's home. "Chief? John Bogardus. Mary deWitte still hasn't come home to roost. I think we'd better find her before she does something splendid and foolish." "Like perhaps marrying her contaminated basketball-player and setting out on a suicidal honeymoon?" Dr. McQueen suggested. "You're right, John; we should prevent that sort of thing. The rub is, we're too late. I got a phone-call from Mary a few minutes after I got home this evening. She abandoned her sterility-suit in a downtown Chicago hotel room at noon today, and married her fledgling lawyer in a civil ceremony at one o'clock. I tried to find out from her where she was, but she just said she was very happy and hung up." "Hell! What are we going to do?" "I'm flying to Chicago, where I'll ask the help of the police in finding Mary," the Chief said. "Once I've run down the happy couple, though, damned if I know what I'll do next. Shall I stand outside the bridal chamber with a syringeful of broad-spectrum antibiotics, waiting for Mary to sneeze?" "They'll have a short marriage," I said. "Mary knows how likely it is that she'll never grow old," Dr. McQueen said. "But I suspect that she hasn't said a word to her husband. I'd better go now, John. My plane leaves in twenty minutes." "Don't let this prey on you too much, Chief," I said. "We Lapins have free will, too. We're old enough to bear the responsibilities for our own actions." "Thank you, Johnny." Dr. McQueen hung up. I returned to the table with no enthusiasm for the remaining half of my steak. "What's up, Johnny?" the Firebird asked me. "Now we are twenty-eight," I said. "They were married in Chicago at one o'clock." "How wonderful!" the Firebird exulted. She stood and pounded our table-top with the vase, scattering damp daisies on the cloth. "Quiet, everybody! I've got an announcement." The chatter over dessert simmered down. "Mary deWitte got married today--here's to the bride!" Firebird slopped two ounces of White Horse into her glass and downed them at a heroic gulp. She sat, sputtering. The chatter at the other tables crescendoed as our colleagues reminded one another of the significance of the Firebird's news. "Will you also propose the toast at Mary's wake?" I asked. * * * * * "What a hideous thing to say!" "It was, Firebird," I said. "Forgive me, please. This thing has left me in a wounding mood." "Is Mary really in such danger?" Firebird asked.