one thing more: What medical man would welcome into his heart a gadget that would leave him nothing to do but stand around with a voltmeter and an oilcan?"

"Good point," Sue nodded with an exaggerated flounce of her auburn halo.

"Of course," I conceded, "if John wants to fiddle around with that pile of junk as a hobby, that's his business."

"Darrrrrrrling, you've been had," she said lazily. "That pile of junk we told you was a super-gadget was nothing more than an assembly jig and test rack for the Symptometer units."

"You misled me!" I exploded.

"That is the understatement of the week," she smiled sweetly. "But we couldn't have chosen a better Symptometer salesman if we'd had our pick when I phoned in that complaint to the Board and the Hotel Celt."

"You—you?" I stammered, my pulse loud in my ears.

"Yes, darling. And you were so sweet to get the solution so quickly. We didn't even have to suggest it to you." Somehow her arm had crept up behind me, and her fingers got inside the back of my over-heated collar. "Don't you understand? With John's trouble, what chance do you suppose he would have had peddling those gadgets directly to any clinic? Anyway, what product ever started out in life with a better endorsement than that of the International Medical Association? Now SHEDDUP!"

I could have resisted the pressure of her arm, being a strong man. But a bega-volt thought hit me. She had everything out of me she had come for, so why did she want to kiss me unless—anyhow, we hit the tunnel curve just then.

Once again I didn't notice the warning signal light. And this time we got a ticket.

 Prev. P 13/13