able to get a passport to go into the country, on the pretext of
observing the movements of the troops of the Pan-Antis, who were
vigorously attacking the dandelion fields and gooseberry
vineyards. He had already sent his wife and children down to the
seashore, in the last refugee train which had left the city before
Nature was declared outlaw.

It was a hot morning, and having wound up his work at the office
he was sitting in a small lunchroom having a shrimp salad sandwich
and a glass of milk. The street outside was thronged with great
motor ambulances rumbling in from the suburbs, carrying the wilted
remains of berries and fruits which had been dug up by the furious
legions of Chuff. These were hastily transported to the municipal
cannery where they were made into jams and preserves with all
possible speed, before fermentation could set in. Bleak saw them
pass with saddened eyes.

A beautiful gray motor car drew up at the curb, and honked
vigorously. The proprietor of the lunchroom, thinking that
possibly the chauffeur wanted some sandwiches, left the cash
register and crossed the pavement eagerly. Every eye in the
restaurant was turned upon the glittering limousine, whose panels
of dove-throat gray shone with a steely lustre. In a moment the
proprietor returned with a large basket and a small folded paper,
looking puzzled. He glanced about the room, and approached Bleak.

"I guess you're the guy," he said, and handed the editor a note on
which was scrawled in pencil

TO THE MAN WITH A PENETRATING GAZE WHO HAS JUST SPILLED SOME