"Stupid!" roared Mr. Eammer's voice. "Who's talking about that? Did
you ask Peterson of World Studios if he'll license us to use his new
Largoscope system?"
"Y-yes." A moment of terrified silence. "He s-said your outfit could
use his Largoscope on only one occasion. When they f-film your funeral."
There was a gasp, then the door opened and a perspiring, harried,
bald-headed man lurched out. With glazed eyes, he made a beeline for
the outer door.
"Let's go in," said Mary eagerly "He'll be so glad to see you."
I looked at her incredulously, but she took my arm and dragged me
inside. There Mr. Eammer sat twitching and shuddering, his head in his
pudgy hands.
He looked dully at us from tiny eyes. "Everybody hates my genius," he
said, waggling his head from side to side. "Everybody envies me. The
wild dogs are gathering to pull down the noble elk."