he was finished, he stepped back, naturally, to admire it.

"That's terrific!" I said, clapping him on the back.

"Watch on whom you're spilling the rye," Red flared. I apologized, and in my philanthropic state stooped to kiss her. She backed away.

"A kiss for the bride," I said, pouting. "That's all."

She laughed. "You'd swallow me." But she approached and stood up on tip-toe and bussed my nose.

"Break it up," Willy said, a new authority in his voice. "I've got to put my signature to the sketch." He tapped impatiently. "Red. Lie down beside the sketch."

Red flushed and placed her hands on her hips. "Now look here, Willy. Don't you go getting too big for your boots!"

I guffawed. "It's the other way 'round! He'll be too small for his boots."

This diverted the quarrel enough for Willy to give me final instructions, which he did from a prone position on the floor. "Is Red lying down beside the sketch, Jim?"

"Yup," I said, squinting at the once-again two-dimensioned Red-head.

"Now I'll transfer my mind to the sketch. I'll move an arm when I'm there."

He closed his eyes, and a straining expression twisted his features.

"Am I there yet?"

"Nope," I said, bringing my eyes to focus three inches from the sketch.

A few grunting moments passed. "Am I there yet?"

"Nope," I said, stifling a yawn.

"Something's wrong," he said. I turned to look down at him. His straining expression was now from thought. I turned back to the layout pad, and jumped.

"What's taking him so long?" Red demanded, sitting up.

"He can't transfer," I said.

She gave me the schoolmarm expression, hands on hips. "Haven't you killed him yet?"

"Mmm?" I asked.

"You've got to kill him, silly!"

I shook my head. "Unh-unh. Not me."

She started to cry. "I thought you wanted us to get together!"

Feeling like a louse, I turned to look down at Willy. "She says I've got to kill you."

"How?"

Red had come to the edge of the drawing desk. "What does it matter, how?" she said sternly. "You know perfectly well that the only way to get rid of the body you're in is to die." She looked back at me. "What are you waiting for?"

I rubbed my head. "Somehow it doesn't seem—"

She sat back and wailed. Willy jumped from the floor and cupped her tenderly in his hands. "Don't cry, sweet. After all, it is asking a lot of Jim."

"He gave us the solution," she cried, "and now he's backing out of his part in it!"

"Well," said Willy, "he wasn't expected to know he'd have to kill me—"

"How else can you leave the body you're in?" she sobbed. "What did he expect you'd do? Occupy two bodies at the same time?"

Willy looked at me. I shrugged. "Have to confess I hadn't thought of it," I muttered, only half aware that they had me over a barrel. I was half tempted to ask Willy to fill my rye glass with pastels again, but it seemed an imposition at the moment.

"Oh, what the hell," I said committingly. "I'm not the kind of guy to let a friend down over a technicality!"

Red leapt to my lap and clambered up my shirtfront. "I knew you wouldn't let us down!" she said happily, and bussed my chin. Before I could be modest about it she had bounded to the desk-top and was stretching herself out beside Willy's drawing of himself. Willy and I stared from her to each other.

"Well," Willy said. "Let's get to it."

I won't elaborate on the details on my act of friendship. I killed Willy in as gentle a manner as possible, and when I turned back to the layout pad they were sitting there embracing. Willy-the-Figment stood up proudly and extended his hand, the one Red wasn't clinging to.

"Thanks, Jim," he said, when I had shaken it warmly with my finger-tip. "I knew when I phoned you tonight that you were just the one who would come up with an unselfish, practical solution to my dilemma. I'd like to say—"