the office suite of Vice President Cyrus W. Lemson ushered them inside.

After having them seat themselves, Mr. Lemson stared at Jason in his tight, crimson, dress dungarees and rhinestone speckled, black shirt which accentuated his lithe, muscled body. Eighteen or not, he thought in mild astonishment, that handsome giant is no boy. "The doctor viphoned me about you," he said sternly. He spoke to them further about the seriousness of what they had done and told them their parents were on the way down. Then he took them into an interior office furnished like a luxurious living room. "Please wait here," he said, "until your people arrive. Magazines are there on the table and you may turn on the television set." He closed the door.

"Want me to turn on the television set?" Jason asked.

"No, Ah don't much feel like it."

They settled themselves on the enormous couch and Robina looked at her brother. "Jason, Ah'm real sorry. Ah went an' stirred up a hornet's nest of trouble for you again."

"Don't fret about it, Robee. They won't really do nothin' serious. They'll talk to Ma an' Pa an' Pa'll make like he's goin' to cuff us aroun' when we get back to the hotel an' instead he'll jus' look dark an' make us feel bad with his talk. It'll jus' be a lot of commotion like a bee stuck in a tar bucket."

"Ah guess," Robina said. She cast a sheepish glance at her brother. "Say Jason, how did the feelie end up?"

Jason was indignant. "Now listen, Robee, ain't you had enough? You heard the doc say that last was like to kill you."

"Please, Jason, there's nothin' wrong with you jus' tellin' me."

"It's almost as bad. You still get yourself all flittered up."

"That's because nobody can tell a story like you do, the way you act it out an' all."

"Ah don't act it out. Ah jus' tell it."

"Well you might call it tellin' but everybody home says it's jus' like a feelie when you do it. An' don't pretend you don't know it, brother Jay, an' enjoy it too!"

Jason did not tell the ending of the feelie; he recreated it. He was the monster slurching across the floor toward her, step by scraping step and in spite of her fist on her mouth a tiny nervous scream escaped Robina. Jason wanted to stop then but she badgered him into continuing. Now he was the hero, Gregg Mason, battling the unspeakable fiend and she shivered uncontrollably as she watched them struggle to the death. In a last, desperate, superhuman effort, Gregg's hands clawed into the monster's body and ripped out the foul, quivering heart of it. The creature twisted to the ground and perished in its own slime. Gregg, torn and bleeding and with shock-frozen eyes, turned and staggered into the arms of Robina.

"Oh, Gregg, Gregg," Robina cried in relief, the tears streaming down her face.

"It's okay, Joan," he said comforting her, "okay. It's all over now. C'mon now, Joan, get out from behind those tears so you can see how much Ah love you. Everything's all right."

"Oh, Gregg!" A weak smile broke through.

Gregg enfolded Joan in his arms and pressed his mouth against her eager lips.

"What are you two doing?!!" a shocked voice exclaimed from the open door.

Gregg and Joan were blown away by the sound like spindrift before the wind. Jason and Robina slowly came apart to see Mr. Lemson and another man coming into the room.

"What is the matter with you both?" Mr. Lemson spoke again. "Aren't you in enough trouble now?"

"Let me handle this, Cy," the other man said stepping forward. "I'm Bob Herschell," he said smiling and radiating friendliness at the youngsters. "Would you please tell me exactly what you were doing before we came in here?"

"Weren't doin' nothin'," Jason said belligerently.

"Shades of the decadent South!" Lemson exclaimed. "Brother and sister glued together and he calls it nothin'."

"Ah wasn't kissin' her like you think," Jason said hotly. "Ah was tellin' her a story."

"What