"Don't you think that is about enough at one dose?"

"Oh!—Sorry, you surprised me. You're probably right, but it gets to be a vice." He snapped off the power. "It's as hard to put down as a detective story."

"What's a detective story?"

"A story about the solution of a crime. These were all the rage in 1939. Half the stories published were murder mysteries."

"Good Lord! Was murder that common?"

"No, but the stories were primarily puzzles—like a chess game."

"Oh—. But look, Perry, I called you to see if you would like a swim before lunch. Do you swim?"

"Sure, but where do we swim? Isn't it too cold?"

"No. You'll see. Come along." A door in the end of the room opposite the canyon opened directly outdoors, but instead of a January winter in the High Sierras, it was summer, summer in a tropical garden. The sun shone brightly on masses of flowers and on a patch of green lawn which bordered a little rock pool with clear water over white sand. The pool was just long enough for four or five strokes. Beyond the garden Perry saw winter and snow-capped peaks. Yet the garden and pool were apparently unprotected in any way from the rigors of the mountain climate.

Perry turned back to Diana. "Listen, Dian', I've believed everything else, but this is a dream. Put me out of my misery. How, how is it done?"

Diana smiled in delight. "It is nice, isn't it? I'll show you how it's done. Walk along the path by the pool. When you get close to the edge of the garden put out your hands."

Perry did as directed. As he reached the edge he stopped suddenly and gave a grunt of surprise. Then he cautiously ran his hand up and down what appeared from his actions to be a wall of thin air.

"Why, it's glass!"

"Yes, of course."

"It must have an amazingly low refractive index."

"I suppose so."

"Look, Dian', I can't see the stuff. Tell me where it is, so I won't bump into it."

"You won't. The garden is laid out to keep you a half meter or so from it and it's quite high enough overhead. The base of it runs all around here"—she indicated most of a semicircle—"From there it arches up to the house. If you look closely you can see the joint of the seal, and there it runs down the rock wall and back to the ground again. It is shaped like a giant bubble."

Perry mused. "Hm—I see. And that's why it doesn't need supports. But how did it get there in the first place?"

"It was blown in place, just like a bubble. It is a bubble. Look, did children blow bubbles when you were young?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever wet a dish or a box or a table top and blow a bubble on it and make it follow a shape you wanted?"

"Yes, yes, I begin to see."

"Well, first they painted the wall and a sheeting on the ground with sticky stuff—bubble mixture, right up to where the bubble is to stop. Then they put their bubble pipe gadget in the middle and commenced to blow. When the bubble just reached the proper size, they stopped."

"It sounds easy the way you tell it."

"It's not very. I watched them do this one and they broke four bubbles before one held up. Then it takes several hours to dry tough, and any little touch can ruin it until it does."

"I don't see yet how you can get glass to behave so."

"It isn't glass—not silicate glass anyhow, but a synthetic plastic glass. One of the technicians said it had molecules like very long chains."

"That's reasonable."

"I wouldn't know, but it's a sticky stuff when they decant it, like a white molasses, but it dries very hard and stiff like glass only it's tough, instead of brittle. It won't shatter and it's very hard to cut or tear."

"Well, it's a grand notion in any case. You know we had patios and outdoor living rooms and pools in gardens in my day, but it was generally too hot or too cold or too windy to enjoy them. And there were always insects; flies, or mosquitoes, or both. In my aunt's patio it was honey bees. It's very disconcerting when you're trying to sunbathe to have bees crawling over you and buzzing around your head."

"Are you sensitive to bee stings, Perry?"

"No. I can handle bees. They don't sting me, but they used to drive my aunt nearly frantic. The poor woman never did get any real pleasure out of her garden. They would sting her and she would swell up like a poisoned pup, and get sick to her stomach. Sad really, she did love her garden so and got so little fun out of it."

"Then why did she keep bees?"

"She didn't. One of her neighbors did."

"But that's not custom—Nevermind. I asked you about bee stings because bees don't sting anymore."

Perry clapped his hand to his brow and gave a look of mock agony. "Enough, woman enough! Tell me no more! No. Stop. One more thing. Answer me this question and I die happy. Do watermelons have seeds?"

"Did they used to have?"

Perry stepped to the edge of the pool, assumed a declamatory pose and orated: "Farewell, sad world. Papa goes to his reward! Sic semper seeds," nipped his nose between thumb and forefinger, shut his eyes tight and jumped feet first into the pool. He came up blowing to find Diana wiping water out of her eyes and laughing hysterically.

"Perry! You're a clown! Stop it!"

He didn't answer but asked solemnly, "Tell me, bird of mournful numbers, do blackberries still have seeds?"

Diana controlled her giggles. "Blackberries have seeds, you idiot."

"That's all I wanted to know." Perry's head disappeared and he gave a creditable imitation of a drowning man, accompanied by glugging sounds. Diana dived in, joined him on the bottom, and tickled him vigorously. Both heads reappeared. Perry coughed and blew.

"Wench, you made me strangle."

"Sorry." But she giggled again.

Some minutes later Perry lay on his side drying off and watching Diana, who was still in the pool. She floated with just her face and the curve of her breast appearing above the water. Her hair formed a halo about her head. The warm sun soaked into their bones and rendered them sluggish and contented. Perry chucked a pebble into the pool. It hit the water with a little chunking sound and splashed a drop on Diana's face. She turned on her side, took two effortless strokes to the side of the pool, and rested her hands on the edge.

Diana cut in. "Are you hungry, fella?"

"Now that you mention it, there does seem to be something missing."

"Then let's eat. No, don't get up. We'll eat out here. It's all ready."

She returned laden with a tray as big as she was. "Perry, you move over into the shade. You haven't the tan I have and I don't want you blistered."

Three-quarters of an hour later, Diana stirred out of a digestive calm. "Before you get back to your studies, I want to have you measured for some clothes."

Perry looked surprised. "Clothes—why, I had gathered the impression that they weren't necessary."

Diana looked puzzled. "You can't stay in the house forever, Perry. It's cold outside. I've planned a little picnic for tomorrow, but we'll have to get you some warm clothes first. And while we're about it, you might as well order some other things that you will need."

"Lead on, McDuff."

Diana selected a combination on the televue. A Semitic gentleman appeared on screen. He rubbed his hands together and smiled. "Ah, Madame, can I do you a service?"

"Thank you; my friend needs some costumes. A heavy and medium snow suit, first, and then some other things."

"Ah, that is fine. We have some new models, very dashing and sooooo practical too. And now will you have him take position?"

Diana nudged Perry into a spot near the televue, then turned the screen so that it faced him. The Semitic gentleman seemed ecstatic. "Ah, yes. A beautiful figure. It is a pleasure to make clothes for a man who can wear them. Wait. Let me think. I have it! I shall create a new model for him. With that proportion of the shoulders and that length of leg—"