And if the talk had been prolonged much more Curt would have inevitably tumbled to his motive for telling him the theory. * * * * * Promptly at eleven Curt arrived. Fred's mother had already prepared the large basket of food. There were ten minutes of last-minute bustle, then they were off, with Curt skillfully tooling his Cadillac in and out of traffic until they were on the open highway. "I know just the place," he told them. "Woods, meadow, brook. Even a couple of cows." And he did. When they arrived shortly before twelve-thirty it was all that. Fred relaxed as the car came to a stop. Every second of the trip he had been ready to seize the wheel and keep the car from crashing if Curt vanished. "Still a little nervous?" Curt asked him as they got out. "No. No, of course not!" Fred said. Curt didn't pursue the subject. Instead, he became something utterly different than he had been before, a carefree thoroughly likeable man, full of humor. Fred began to regret that he had chosen him as his victim. He began to hope that the process might not be automatic, that Curt wouldn't vanish. But he stayed close to him and listened to his every word and watched his face as much as he dared without staring, so that if the moment came he could get whatever there was to get of value from it. For the first time in years his mother began to be carefree. She even joked back at Curt occasionally, something she had never done with Martin in Fred's memory. Her joking was clumsy and uncertain. Fred laughed uproariously to encourage her and to hide his uncomfortable feeling. "Oh, I haven't felt so good in ages," she said when they were seated around the tablecloth spread with sandwiches and salads and cakes. "It's wonderful getting out like this. We'll have to do it often." "We will," Curt said. "At least once a week." Fred's mother picked up a sandwich. She started to raise it to her mouth. She was smiling at Curt and about to say something to him. Both Curt and Fred were watching her. Abruptly she wasn't there. The sandwich seemed to remain stationary for a long second. Then it dropped to the tablecloth. Curt was holding a paper cup filled with hot coffee. His hand constricted. The cup collapsed, spilling steaming coffee over his legs. Fred stared at the space his mother had just occupied. Abruptly he squawked, "No!" He turned accusing eyes on Curt. "You told her!" Something seemed to go out of the man. He seemed to become visibly smaller. "Yes," he whispered, "I told her." Fred was crying. "But you shouldn't have," he sobbed. "I told you because I wanted you to vanish. I didn't want her to, and now she has. And nothing happened that I could use."