an effort to keep him in focus, said, 'Harry, do you know why we don't wear wool 'n stuff like that?'

"'Sure,' Harry answered. 'The Handbook says animal fibers are protein an' if the puffs get a foothold on any article of clothing made of 'em, then their rootlets c'n penetrate most any kind of goo an' fasten into the guy that happens to be so stupid. Then someone has to give him the treatment to keep him from scratching right down to the liver an' lights.'

"The Kid's punch line was trying to get out so bad that he was about to blow a tube. 'That's right, Harry,' he smiled patronizingly. 'Now if Prunella was to wear somethin' like that, do y' spose the puffs would get 'er?'

"Harry was still puzzled. 'Sure they would, but she's not gonna do it. Handbook says not to, n' even gives a long list of stuff not to wear. Nope, she won't.'

"'I know there's a list, but one nitrogenous fiber didn't get on it. Silk is a protein—fibroin—but it's not on the list.'

"'Silk? Why should silk be on the list?' Martin, a big, beefy physicist, was red-faced and indignant. 'It's too expensive and fragile for ordinary wear an' besides, no self-respecting spaceman I ever knew would be caught dead in a silk undershirt or a silk anything else! What d'you think those guys are, a bunch of women to go around wearing sil—' He stopped abruptly, staring at the Kid with something like awe. 'Do you think we can get 'er into something made of silk?' he asked humbly, as befits a man when he speaks to a superior being.

"There was a respectful silence as the group waited for Mr. Paulson, formerly the Kid, to speak.

"Mr. Paulson clapped his hand over his mouth, said 'Urp' between his clenched fingers, turned a remarkable shade of green and looked about him like a trapped animal. A few of his admirers led him through a small door, no doubt to worship silently at his feet while he rested after his soul-shaking ordeal. It was clear that Mr. Paulson had given his all for the cause."

ee said, "The door slid shut on Mr. Paulson's pain-racked exit, its latching hiss drowned by the simultaneous demand of the committee, individually, for the attention of the committee, collectively. Each of them considered himself the sole person present capable of carrying on the great work for which Mr. Paulson had so nobly sacrificed himself. Ordinarily sedate doctors of this or that gibbered at each other in an arm-waving, frenzied attempt to be heard.

"In a matter of seconds, half the committee had the other half backed into chairs, against tables and into corners, earnestly explaining in a conspiratorial roar just how Prunella was to be enticed into wearing the silken booby-trap.

"The committee gradually shouted itself into a red-faced, thirsty semi-hoarseness only to find a demon—ne Shulman, our top botanist—guarding the inspirational keg with a heavy stool and promising a swift and personal drought to any man who didn't shut up on the spot. I need not say that we shut nor that order was fast in coming among us.

"In the comparative quiet that followed, there was a rapid-fire shifting of ideas, deleting some, adding to others, and Prunella was doomed. The plot wasn't too thick. It depended only on the fact that an expert's eye was needed to detect the difference between sheer Enduron, the newest and best of the synthetic fibers, and sheer silk. By the same token, the reverse was true. That is, given silk, one could easily mistake it for Enduron.

"The services of a woman on Terra were necessary to us, so Sparks magnanimously recruited his young sister, a writer or artist or something of the sort, who lives somewhere in southern Europe. All she had to do was buy a dozen pairs of the fluffiest, frilliest, most outrageously feminine silk undies she could find in the most chi-chi