angry cry almost drowned out the horrific roar of the live-prop brontosaurus that appeared.

Man Against Dinosaur!

"Meeting, meeting!" he cried. "We're going to have a staff meeting—right after the show!"

"A live meeting?" Frick gasped.

"A live one," the Producer said. "Everybody here—right here—in person! This is an emergency!"

"Gosh, T.D.—" Frick frowned disapprovingly. "That's kind of rough, isn't it? I mean, a phonescreen session would be a lot simpler. It'll take hours for Manford and the rest of 'em to get through the Jam."

"I don't care," the Producer said petulantly. "This kind of bumbling inefficiency has gone far enough. It'll do 'em good to get crushed in the Traffic for a change—"

Frick paled, obviously disturbed by the severity of the punishment the Producer was meting out. Only the lowest ranks of employees, the non-executives, the factory people, were forced to suffer the indignities of the Jam.

"I'm sure they'll get that fellow," Frick said. "After all, T.D.—how far can he get? When he gets out of the forest, he'll reach the Studio Barrier, and he'll be stopped. Simple as that."

"And what if he finds the exit?"

Frick scoffed, "Well, the odds on that—"

"Odds? Don't talk to me about odds, Frick!" The Producer winced as man and brontosaurus came together on the screen. There was a closeup of the man's face, and his expression wasn't pretty when he saw the imitation beast. But of course, he couldn't know it was harmless—

"The letters!" the Producer groaned. "The complaints! I can see 'em now—"

The office door opened. A pretty redhead with vacant eyes and a frozen smile poked her head inside.

"What is it, Miss Stitch?"

"Will you take a call from Mr. Manford? Phonescreen Seven."

"You bet I will," the Producer said menacingly.

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