Mr Weener Sees It Through

: Greener Than You Think

92. Whether it was from the exposure I endured on that dreadful trip

or from disease germs which must have been plentiful among the

continental savages and the man who rowed me back to England, I don't

know, but that night I was seized with a violent chill, an aching head

and a dry, enervating fever. I sent for the doctor and went to bed and

it was a week before I was myself enough to be cognizant of what was

going on round me.



During my illness I was delirious and I'm sure I afforded my nurses

plentiful occasion to snicker at the ravings of someone of no

inconsiderable importance as he lay helpless and sick. "Paper and

pencil, you kep callin for, Mr Weener--an you that elpless you couldnt

old up your own and. You said you ad to write a book--the Istory of the

Grass. To purge yourself, you said. Lor, Mr Weener, doctors don't

prescribe purges no more--that went out before the first war."



I never had a great deal of patience with theories of psychology--they

seem to smack too much of the confessional and the catechism. But as I

understand it, it is claimed that there exists what is called an

unconscious--a reservoir of all sorts of thoughts lurking behind the

conscious mind. The desires of this unconscious are powerful and tend to

be expressed any time the conscious mind is offguard. Whether this

metaphysical construction be valid or not, it seemed to me that some

such thing had taken place while I was sick and my unconscious, or

whatever it was, had outlined a very sensible project. There was no

reason why I shouldnt write such a history as soon as I could take the

time from my affairs. Certainly I had the talent for it and I believed

it would give me some satisfaction.



My pleasant speculations and plans for this literary venture were

interrupted, as was my convalescence, by the loss of the Sahara depots.

When I got the news, my principal concern wasnt for the incalculable

damage to Consolidated Pemmican. My initial reaction was amazement at

the ability of the devilgrass to make its way so rapidly across a

sterile and waterless waste. In the years since its first appearance it

had truly adapted itself to any climate, altitude, or condition

confronting it. A few months before, the catastrophe would have plunged

me into profound depression; now, with the resilience of recovery added

to Miss Francis' assurance, it became merely another setback soon to be

redeemed.



From Senegal, near the middle of the great African bulge, to Tunis at

the continent's northern edge, up through Sardinia and Corsica, the

latest front of the Grass was arrayed. It occupied most of Italy and

climbed the Alps to bite the eastern tip from Switzerland. It took

Bavaria and the rest of Germany beyond the Weser. Only the Netherlands,

Belgium, France, Spain and Portugal--a geographical purist might have

added Luxembourg, Andorra and Monaco--remained untouched upon the

Continent. Into this insignificant territory and the British Isles were

packed all that was left of the world's two billion people: a blinded,

starving mob, driven mad by terror. How many there were there,

squirming, struggling, dying in a desperate unwillingness to give up

existence, no matter how intolerable, no one could calculate; any more

than a census could be taken of the numbers buried beneath the Grass now

holding untroubled sway over ninetenths of the globe.



Watchers were set upon the English coast in a manner reminiscent of

1940. I don't know exactly what value the giving of the alarm would have

been; nevertheless, night and day eyes were strained through binoculars

and telescopes for signs of the unique green on the horizon or the

first seed slipping through to find a home on insular soil.



Miss Francis' optimistic news had been communicated to the authorities,

but not given out over the BBC. This was an obvious precaution against a

wave of concerted invasion by the fear obsessed horde beyond the

Channel. While they might respect our barriers if the hope for survival

was dim, a chance pickup of the news that the Grass was doomed would be

sure to send its destined victims frenziedly seeking a refuge until the

consummation occurred. If such a thing happened our tiny islands would

be suffocated by refugees, our stores would not last a week, and we

should all go down to destruction together.



But in the mysterious way of rumor, the news spread to hearten the

islanders. They had always been determined to fight the Grass--if

necessary as the Chinese had fought it till overwhelmed--indeed, what

other course had they? But now their need was only to hold it at bay

until the new discovery could be implemented. And there was good chance

of its being put to use before the Grass had got far beyond the Rhine.





93. Now we were on the last lap, my interest in the progress of the

scientific tests was such that I insisted upon being present at every

field experiment. For some reason Miss Francis didnt care for this and

tried to dissuade me, both by her disagreeable manner (her

eccentricity--craziness would undoubtedly be a more accurate

term--increased daily) and by her assurances I couldnt possibly find

anything to hold my attention there. But of course I overruled her and

didnt miss a single one of these fascinating if sometimes disappointing

trials.



I vividly recall the first one. She had reiterated there would be

nothing worth watching--even at best no spectacular results were

expected--but I made myself one of the party just the same. The theater

was a particularly dismal part of Dartmoor and for some reason, probably

known only to herself, she had chosen dawn for the time. We arrived,

cold and uncomfortable, in two saloon cars, the second one holding

several long cylinders similar to the oxygen or acetylene tanks commonly

used in American industry.



There was a great deal of mysterious consultation between Miss Francis

and her assistants, punctuated by ritualistic samplings of the

vegetation and soil. When these ceremonies were complete four stakes and

a wooden mallet were produced and the corners of a square, about 200 by

200, were pegged. The cylinders were unloaded, set in place at equal

intervals along one side of the square, turncocks and nozzles with

elongated sprayjets attached, and the valves opened.



A fine mist issued forth, settling gently over the stakedout area. Miss

Francis, her toothpick suspended, stood in rapt contemplation. At the

end of thirty minutes the spray was turned off and the containers rolled

back into the car. Except for the artificial dew upon it, the moor

looked exactly as it had before.



"Well, Weener, are you going to stand there and gawk for the next

twentyfour hours or are you coming back with us?"



I could tell by their expressions how horrified her assistants were at

the rudeness to which I'd become so accustomed I no longer noticed it.

"It's not a success, then?" I asked.



"How the devil do I know? I have no crystal ball to show me tomorrow.

Anyway, even if it works on the miscellaneous growth here I havent the

remotest idea how the Grass will react to it. This is only a remote

preliminary, as I told you before, and why you encumbered us with your

inquisitiveness is more than I can see."



"Youre coming back tomorrow, then?"



"Naturally. Did you think I just put this on for fun--in order to go

away and forget it? Weener, I always knew those who made money werent

particularly brilliant, but arent you a little backward, even for a

billionaire?"



There was no doubt she indulged in these boorish discourtesies simply to

buoy up her own ego, which must have suffered greatly. She presumed on

her sex and my tolerance, taking the same pleasure in baiting me, on

whom she was utterly dependent, as a terrier does in annoying a Saint

Bernard, knowing the big dog's chivalry will protect the pest.



When we returned the square was clean of all growth, as though scraped

with a sharp knife. Only traces of powdery dust, not yet scattered by a

breeze, lay here and there. I was jubilant, but Miss Francis affected an

air of contempt. "Ive proved nothing I didnt know before, merely

confirmed the powers of the deterrent--under optimum conditions. It has

killed ordinary grass and some miscellaneous weeds--and that's all I can

say so far. What it will do to inoculated Cynodon dactylon I have no

more idea than you."



"But youre going to try it on the Grass immediately?"



"No, I'm not," she answered shortly.



"Why not?"



"Weener, either leave these things in my hands or else go do them

yourself. You annoy me."



I was not to be put off in so cavalier a manner and after we parted I

sent for one of her assistants and ordered him to load a plane with some

of the cylinders and fly to the Continent for the purpose of using the

stuff directly against the Grass. When he protested such a test would be

quite useless and he could not bring himself to such disloyalty to his

"chief," as he quaintly called Miss Francis, I had to threaten him with

instant discharge and blacklist before he came to his senses. I'm sorry

to say he turned out to be a completely unreliable young man, for the

plane and its crew were never heard from again--a loss I felt deeply,

for planes were becoming scarce in England.





94. As a matter of fact everything, except illegal entrants who

continued to evade the authorities, was becoming scarce in England now.

The stocks of petroleum, acquired from the last untouched wells and

refineries and hoarded so zealously, had been limited by the storage

space available. We had a tremendous amount of food on hand, yet with

our abnormally swollen population and the constant knowledge that the

British Isles were not agriculturally selfsufficient, wartime rationing

of the utmost stringency was resorted to. The people accepted their

hardships, lightened by the hope given by Miss Francis' work--in turn

made possible only by me.



Though I chafed at her procrastination and forced myself to swallow her

incivilities, I put my personal reactions aside and with hardly an

exception turned over my entire scientific resources to Miss Francis,

making all my research laboratories subordinate to her, subject only to

a prudent check, exercised by a governing board of practical

businessmen. The government cooperated wholeheartedly and thousands

worked night and day devising possible variants of the basic compound

and means of applying it under all conditions. It was a race between the

Grass and the conquerors of the Grass; there was no doubt as to the

outcome; the only question now was how far the Grass would get before it

was finally stopped.



The second experiment was carried out on the South Downs. The containers

were the same, the ceremonious interchange repeated, only the area

staked out covered about four times as much ground as the first. We

departed as before, leaving the meadow apparently unharmed, returning to

find the square dead and wasted.



Once more I urged her to turn the compound directly upon the Grass.

"What if it isnt perfected? What harm can it do? Maybe it's advanced

enough to halt the Grass even if it doesnt kill it."



She stabbed at her chest with the toothpick. "Isnt it horrible to live

in a world of intellectual sucklings? How can I explain what's going on?

I have a basic compound in the same sense ... in the same sense, let us

say, that I know iodine to be a poison. Yes, that will do. If I wish to

kill a man--some millionaire--and administer too little, far from acting

as a poison it will be positively beneficial. This is a miserably

oversimplified analogy--perhaps you will understand it."



I was extremely dissatisfied, knowing as I did the rapidly worsening

situation. The Grass was in the Iberian Peninsula, in Provence,

Burgundy, Lorraine, Champagne and Holland. The people were restive, no

longer appeased by the tentative promise of redemption through Miss

Francis' efforts. The BBC named a date for the first attack upon the

Grass, contradicted itself, said sensible men would understand these

matters couldnt be pinned down to hours and minutes. There were riots at

Clydeside and in South Wales and I feared the looting of my warehouses

in view of the terrible scarcity of food.



It wasnt only the immediate situation which was bad, but the longrange

one. Oil reserves in the United Kingdom were practically exhausted. So

were non-native metals. Vital machinery needed immediate replacement. As

soon as Miss Francis was ready to go into action the strain upon our

obsolescent technology and hungerweakened manpower would be crippling.



The general mood was not lightened by the clergy, professionally

gloating over approaching doom, nor by the speculations of the

scientists, who were now predicting an insect and aquatic world. Man,

they said, could not adapt himself to the Grass--this was proved to the

hilt by the tragedy of the Russian armies in the Last War--but insects

had, fishes didnt need to, and birds, especially those who nested above

the snowline, might possibly be able to. Undoubtedly these orders could

in time produce a creature equal if not superior to Homo sapiens and

the march of progress stood a chance to continue after an hiatus of a

few million years or so.



The combination of these airy and abstract speculations with their

slowness to produce something tangible to help us at this crisis first

angered and then profoundly depressed me. I could only look upon the

whole conglomeration--scientists, politicians, common man and all--as

thoroughly irresponsible. I remembered how I had applied myself

diligently, toiling, planning, imagining, to reach my present position

and how a fraction of that effort, if it had been exerted by these

people, could stop the Grass overnight.



In this frameofmind my thoughts occupied themselves more and more with

the idea I had uttered during my illness. To write a history of the

Grass would at least afford me an escape from the daily irritation of

concerning myself exclusively with the incompetents and blunderers. Not

being the type of person to undertake anything I was not prepared to

finish, I thought it might be advisable to keep a journal, first to get

myself in the mood for the larger work and later to have a daytoday

account of momentous events as seen by someone uniquely connected with

the Grass.





95. July 14: Lunch at Chequers with the PM. Very gloomy. Says Miss F

may have to be nationalized. Feeble joke by undersecretary about

nationalization of women proving unsuccessful during the Bolshevik

revolution. Ignoring this assured the PM we would get a more definite

date from her during the week. Privately agreed her dilatoriness

unpardonable. I shall speak to F tomorrow.



Home by 5. Gardeners slovenly; signs of neglect everywhere. Called in S

and gave him a good goingover; said he was doing the best he could.

Sighed for the good old days--Tony Preblesham would never have shuffled

like that. Shall I have to get a new steward--and would he be any

improvement?



Very bored after dinner. Almost decided to start the book. Scribbled a

few paragraphs--they didnt sound too bad. Sleep on it.



July 15: BBC this morning reported Grass in the Ardennes. This

undoubtedly means a new influx from the Continent--the coastguard is

practically powerless--and we will be picked clean. In spite of the news

F absolutely refuses to set a definite date. Kept my temper with

difficulty.



Came home to be annoyed by Mrs H telling me K, one of the housemaids,

had been got into trouble by an undergardener. Asked Mrs H whether or

not it wasnt her function as a housekeeper to take care of such details.

Mrs H very tart, said in normal times she was perfectly capable of

handling the situation, but with everything going to pieces she didnt

know whether to turn off K or the undergardener, or both, or neither. I

thought her attitude toward me symptomatic of the general slackness and

demoralization setting in all over. Instructed her to discharge them

both and not bother me again with such trivia. Tried to phone the PM,

but the line was down. Another symptom.



As a sort of refuge, went to the library and wrote for four solid hours,

relating the origin of the Grass. Feeling much better afterwards, rang

for Mrs H and told her merely to give K a leave of absence and discharge

only the guilty undergardener. I could see she didnt approve my

leniency.



July 16: A maniac somehow got into The Ivies and forced his way into

the library where I was writing. A horrible looking fellow, with a

tortured face, he waved a pistol in front of me, ranting phrases

reminiscent of oldfashioned soapbox oratory. I am not ashamed to admit

nervousness, for this is not the first time my life has been threatened

since attaining prominence. Happily, the madman's aim was as wild as his

speech, and though he fired four shots, all lodged in the plaster. S,

Mrs H and B, hearing the noise, rushed in and grabbed him.



July 17: A little upset by the episode of the wouldbe assassin, I

decided to go up to London for the day. The library would be unusable

anyway, while the walls and ceiling were being repaired.



July 18: Shaking experience. Can write no more at the moment.



Later: I was walking in Regent Square when I saw her. As beautiful and

mysterious as she was last time. But now my tongue was not tied;

oblivious to restraint and ridicule, I shouted, rushed after her.



I-- But, really, that is all. I rushed after her, but she disappeared in

the idle crowd. People looked at me curiously as I pushed and shoved,

peering, crying, "Wait, wait a minute!" But she was gone.



Still later: I shall go back to The Ivies tonight. If I stay longer in

London I fear I shall be subject to further hallucinations.



If it was an hallucination and not the Strange Lady herself.



July 19: Grass reported in Lyons. F has new experiment scheduled for

tomorrow. Despite upset condition, I wrote six pages of my history. The

work of concentrating, under the circumstances, was terrific but I feel

repaid for my effort. I am the captain of my soul.



S says the cottagers no longer paying rent. Told him to evict them.





96. July 20: F's test today on some underbrush in a wood. Think in

future I shall go only to inspect the results; the spraying is very

dull. Wrote four pages and tore them up. S says it is impossible to

evict tenants. Asked him if there were no law left in England and he

answered, "Not very much." I shall begin looking about for a new

steward. Hear the Tharios are in London. Grass reported beyond the

Vosges.



July 21: Usual aftermath of F's experiment. Not a sign of vegetation

left. In the face of this, simply maddening that she doesnt get into

action directly against the Grass. Got no satisfaction from her by

direct questioning. Can her whole attitude be motivated by some sort of

diseased and magnified femininity?



July 22: Noticed Burlet at breakfast had left off his striped

waistcoat. Such a thing has never happened before. Not surprised when he

requested interview. He began by saying it had been quite some time

since he put before me his plan for what he calls "vertical cities." Not

caring for his attitude, pointed out that it was quite outside my

province as an employer to wetnurse any schemes of his; nevertheless,

out of kindness I had brought it to the attention of the proper people.



"But, Mr Weener, sir, people are losing their lives."



"So you said before, Burlet."



"And if nothing is done the time will come when you also will be killed

by refugees or drowned by the Grass."



"That borders on impertinence, Burlet."



"I ope I ave never forgot my place. But umanity takes precedence over

umility."



"That will be all, Burlet."



"Very good, sir. If convenient, I should like to give notice as of the

first."



"All right, Burlet."



When he left, I was unreasonably disturbed. If I had pressed his

scheme--but it was impracticable....



July 23: The Grass is in the neighborhood of Antwerp and questions are

being asked in Parliament. Unless the government can offer satisfactory

assurances of action by F they are expected to fall tomorrow. Assured

the PM I would put the utmost pressure on F, but I know it will do no

good. The woman is mad; I would have her certified and locked up in an

asylum in a second if only some other scientist would show some signs of

getting results. Did not write a word on my history today.



July 24: Debate in Parliament. Got nothing from F but rudeness. Wrote

considerably on my book. I would like to invite Stuart Thario to The

Ivies, if for no other reason than to show I bear no malice, but perhaps

it would not be wise.



Riots in Sheffield.



July 25: Vote of confidence in Commons. The PM asked the indulgence of

the House and played a record of Churchill's famous speech: "... Turning

to the question of invasion ... We shall not fail; we shall go on to the

end ... We shall defend our island whatever the cost. We shall fight on

beaches, in cities and on the hills. We shall never surrender." Result,

the government squeaked through; 209 for, 199 against, 176 abstaining.

No one satisfied with the results.



Mrs H came to me in great distress. It seems the larder is empty of

chutney, curry and worcestershire sauce and none of these items can be

purchased at Fortnum & Mason's or anywhere else. I assured her it was a

matter of indifference to me since I did not care particularly for any

of these delicacies.



Mrs H swept this aside as entirely irrelevant. "No wellconducted

establishment, Mr Weener, is without chutney, curry or worcestershire."

The insularity of the English is incredible. I have not tasted cocacola,

hotdogs, or had a bottle of ketchup for more than a year, but I don't

complain.



The Grass is in the Schelde estuary, almost within sight of the English

coast. I got nothing written on my history today.



July 26: Invited to see film of a flight made about six months ago

over what was once the United States. Very moving. New York still

recognizable from the awkward shapes assumed there by the Grass. In the

harbor a strange mound of vegetation. Several of the ladies wept.



I went home and thought about George Thario and carried my history of

the Grass up until the time it crossed Hollywood Boulevard.



July 27: The Grass is now in Ostend, definitely in sight from the

coast.



July 28: Grass in Dunkirk.



July 29: F astounded me this morning by coming to The Ivies, an

unprecedented thing. She is (finally!!!) about to undertake tests

directly against the Grass and wants airplanes and gasoline. I impressed

upon her how limited our facilities are and how they cannot be frittered

away. She screamed at me insanely (the woman is positively dangerous in

these frenzies) and I finally calmed her with the assurance--only

superficially exact--that I was dependent on the authorities for these

supplies. At length I persuaded her she could just as well use motor

launches since the Grass had now reached the Channel. She reluctantly

agreed and grumblingly departed. My joy and relief in her belated action

was dampened by her arrogant intemperance. Can a woman so unbalanced

really save humanity?



July 30: Wrote.



July 31: Wrote.



August 1: Attended at breakfast by footman. Extremely awkward and

irritating. Inquired, what had happened to Burlet? Reminded he had left.

Annoyed at this typical lack of consideration on the part of the

employed classes. We give them work and they respond with a lack of

gratitude which is amazing.



In spite of vexations, I brought my history up to the wiping out of Los

Angeles. Leave with F and party at midnight for the tests.



August 4: It is impossible for me to set down the extent of the

depression which besets me. F's assurance she has learned a great deal

from the tests and didnt for a minute expect to drive the Grass back at

this point doesnt counter the fact that her latest spray hadnt the

slightest effect on the green mass which has now replaced the sandy

beaches of the Pas de Calais. At great personal inconvenience I

accompanied her on her fruitless mission and I didnt find her excuses,

even when clothed in scientific verbiage, adequate compensation for the

wasted time.



August 5: The government finally fell today and there is talk of a

coalition of national unity, with the Queen herself assuming

extraordinary powers. There was general agreement that this would be

quite unconstitutional, but that won't prevent its being done anyway.



In spite of the stringent watch against refugees the population has so

enlarged that rations have again been cut. Mrs H says she doesnt know

where the next meal is coming from, but I feel she exaggerates. Farmers,

I hear, absolutely refuse to deliver grain.



August 6: Interview with S C. Offered him all the facilities now at

the disposal of F. I admitted I was not without influence and could

almost promise him a knighthood or an earldom. He said, "Mr Weener, I

don't need the offer of reward; I'm doing my best right now. But I'm

proceeding along entirely different lines than Miss Francis. If I were

to take her work over at this point I'd nullify whatever advance she's

made and not help my own research by as much as an inch." If C can't

replace F, I don't know who can. Very despondent, but wrote just the

same. Can't give in to moods.





97. August 7: BBC announced this morning the Grass is in Bordeaux

and under the Defense of the Realm Act every man and woman is

automatically in service and will be solely responsible for a hundred

square feet of the island's surface, their stations to be assigned by

the chief county constable. Tried to get Sir H C--no phone service.



Wrote on my history till noon. What a lot of bluster professional

authors make over the writing of a book--they should have had the

necessity every businessman knows for sticking eternally to it, and

experience in a newspaper cityroom--as I had. Just before luncheon an

overworked looking police constable bicycled over with designations of

the areas each of us is responsible for. Sir H very thoughtfully

allotted the patrolling of my library to me.



August 8: Grass in Troyes and Chalons. The assignment of everyone to a

definite post has raised the general spirit. Ive always said discipline

was what people needed in times of crisis--takes their minds off their

troubles.



The prime minister spoke briefly over the wireless, announcing he was in

constant touch with all the researchworkers, including Miss Francis.

Annoyed at his going over my head this way--a quite unnecessary

discourtesy.



Marked incivility and slipshodness among the staff. Spoke to Mrs H and

to S; both agreed it was deplorable, saw no immediate help for it. So

upset by petty annoyances I could not write on my history.



August 9: Glorious news. The BBC announced the antiGrass compound

would be perfected before Christmas.



August 10: F denies validity of the wireless report. Said no one with

the remotest trace of intelligence would make such a statement. "Is it

impossible to have the compound by then?" I asked her.



"It's not impossible to have it by tomorrow morning. Good heavens,

Weener, can't you understand? I'm not a soothsayer."



Can it be some scientist I know nothing of is getting ahead of her? Very

dishonorable of the government if so.



Despite uncertainties wrote three more pages.



August 11: Riots in Manchester and Birmingham. Demagogues pointing out

that even if the antiGrass compound is perfected by Christmas it will be

too late to save Britain. They don't count apparently on the Channel

holding the plague back for long. Possible the government may fall,

which won't disturb me, as I prefer the other party anyway.



August 12: After a long period of silence from the Continent, Radio

Mondiale went on the air from Cherbourg asking permission for the

government to come to London.



August 13: The watch on the south and east coasts has been tripled,

more as a precaution against the neverceasing wave of invasion than the

Grass. It has been necessary to turn machineguns on the immigrant

boats--purely in selfdefense.



The rioting in the Midlands has died down, possibly on the double

assurance that permission for the removal of the French government had

been refused (I cannot find out, to satisfy my idle curiosity, if it is

still the Republic One and Indivisible which made the request or whether

that creation was succeeded by a less eccentric one), and that Christmas

was a conservative estimate for the perfection of the compound--a last

possible date.



Brought my history up to the Last War.



August 14: Very disheartening talk with the PM today. It seems the

whole business of setting a date was an error from beginning to end. No

one gave any such promise. It dare not be denied now, however, for fear

of the effect upon the public. I must begin to think seriously of moving

to Ireland.



August 15: Grass reported in the Faeroes. French Channel coast covered

to the mouth of the Seine. What is the matter with F? Is it possible the

failure of the last experiment blasted all her hopes? If so, she should

have told me, so I might urge on others working along different lines.



Motored to the laboratory and spoke about moving to Ireland. She agreed

it might be a wise precaution. "You know, Weener, the jackass who said

Christmas mightnt have been so far out afterall." She seemed very

confident.



Came home relieved of all my recent pessimism and brought my book down

to the overrunning of the United States. I am not a morbid man, but I

pray I may live to set foot on my native soil once again.



August 16: No new reports from France. Can the Grass be slowing down?

Wrote furiously.



August 17: Wrote for nearly ten hours. Definitely decided to discharge

S; he is thoroughly incapable. No word from France, but there is a

general feeling of great optimism.



August 18: Bad news, very bad news. The Grass has jumped two hundred

miles, from the Faeroes to the Shetlands and we are menaced on three

sides. Went up to London to arrange for a place in Ireland. I cannot say

I was well received by the Irish agent, a discourteous and surly fellow.

Left orders to contact Dublin direct as soon as phone service is

resumed.



August 19: It seems Burlet has been interesting all sorts of radicals

and crackpots in his scheme for glassenclosed cities. Local MP very

reproachful; "You should have warned me, Mr Weener." I asked him if he

honestly thought the idea practical. "That isnt the point. Not the point

at all."



As far as can be learned France is completely gone now. It is supposed a

fragment of Spain and Portugal are still free of the Grass and a little

bit of Africa. It is almost unbelievable that all these millions have

perished and that the only untouched land left is these islands.



Many irritations. The phone is in order for perhaps halfanhour a day.

Only the wireless approximates a normal schedule. Wrote six pages.



August 20: Dublin apologized profusely for the stupidity of their

agent and offered me a residence near Kilkenny and all the facilities of

Trinity for F and her staff. Told F, who merely grunted. She then stated

she wanted a completely equipped seagoing laboratory for work along the

French coast. I said I'd see what could be done. Much encouraged by

this request.



August 21: The arrogance and shortsightedness of the workingclass is

beyond belief. They refuse absolutely to work for wages any longer. I

now have to pay for all services in concentrates. Even the warehouse

guards, previously so loyal, will accept nothing but food. I foresee a

rapid dwindling of our precious supplies under this onslaught.



August 22: With all the shipping Consolidated Pemmican owns I can find

nothing suitable for F's work. Almost decided to outfit my personal

yacht Sisyphus for that purpose. It would be convenient to use for the

Irish removal if that becomes necessary.



Burlet's ideas have found their way into Parliament. The Independent

Labour member from South Tooting asked the Home Minister why nothing had

been done about vertical cities. The Home Minister replied that Britons

never would permit a stolon of the Grass to grow on English soil and

therefore such fantastic ideas were superfluous. ILP MP not satisfied.



August 23: Ordered the Sisyphus to Southampton for refitting. It

will cost me thousands of tons of precious concentrates, besides lying

for weeks in a dangerously exposed spot. But I can make a better deal in

Southampton than elsewhere and I refuse to be infected by the general

cowardice of the masses.



Speaking of the general temper, I must say there has been a stiffening

of spirit in the last week or so; very laudable, and encouraging to one

who believes in the essential dignity of human nature.



No new report on the Grass for four days.



August 24: The member from South Tooting has introduced a bill to

start construction at once of one of Burlet's cities. The bill calls for

the conscription of manpower for the work and whatever materials may be

necessary, without compensation. The last clause is of course aimed

directly at me. Naturally, the bill will not pass.



August 25: Flew to Kilkenny. I fear this will be one of the last plane

trips I can make for a long time, since the store of aviation gasoline

is just about exhausted. The place is much more beautiful than

Hampshire, but deplorably inconvenient. However, since the Irish are

still willing to work for money, I have ordered extensive alterations.



August 26: I have stopped all sale of concentrates. Since money will

buy nothing, it would be foolish of me to give my most precious asset

away. Of course we cut the deliveries down to a mere dribble some time

ago, but even that dribble could bleed me to death in time. I have

doubled the wages--in concentrates--of the warehouse guards in fear of

possible looting.





98. August 29: The last three days have been filled with terror and

suspense. It began when a patrolling shepherd on the Isle of Skye found

a suspicious clump of grass. All conditions favored the invader: the

spot was isolated, communications were difficult, local labor was

inadequate. The exhaustion of the fuel supply made it impossible to fly

grassfighters in and men had to be sent by sea with makeshift equipment.

Happily there were two supercyclone fans at Lochinvar which had been

shipped there by mistake and these were immediately dispatched to the

threatened area.



The clump was fought with fire and dynamite, with the fans preventing

the broken stolons from rooting themselves again. After a period of

grave anxiety and doubt there seems to be no question this particular

peril has been averted--not a trace of the threatening weed remains. The

Queen went personally to Westminster Abbey to give thanks.



August 30: Work on the Sisyphus proceeding slowly. I have decided to

keep my own cabin intact and have the adjoining one fitted for a writing

room. Then I can accompany F on her experimental excursions and not lose

any time on my book, which is progressing famously. What a satisfaction

creative endeavor is!



August 31: The bill for the construction of Burlet's city was debated

today. The PM stated flatly that the Grass would be overcome before the

city could be built. (Cheers) The Hon. Member from South Tooting rose to

inquire if the Right Hon. Member could offer something besides his bare

word for this? (Groans, faint applause, cries of "Shame," "No

gentleman," etcetera) The Home Minister begged to inform the Hon. Member

from South Tooting that Her Majesty's government had gone deeply into

the question of the socalled vertical cities long before the Hon. Member

had ever heard of them. Did the Hon. Member ever consider, no matter how

many precautions were taken in the building of conduits for a water

supply, that seeds of the Grass would undoubtedly find their way in

through that medium? Or through the air intakes, no matter how high?

(Dead silence) The Hon. Member from Stoke Pogis asked if the opposition

to his Hon. friend's bill wasnt the result of pressure by a certain

capitalist, concerned principally with the manufacture of concentrated

foods? (Groans and catcalls)



The Chancellor of the Exchequer inquired if the Hon. Member meant to

impugn the integrity of the government? (Cries of "Shame," "No,"

"Unthinkable," etcetera) If not, what did the Hon. Member imply?

(Obstinate silence) Since no answer was forthcoming he would move for a

division. Result: the bill overwhelmingly voted down.



Since the Skye excitement everyone is inclined to be jittery and nerves

are stretched tightly. When I told F she had missed a great opportunity

to test her formula in Scotland she blew up and called me a meddling

parasite. This is pretty good coming from a dependent. Only my

forbearance and consideration for her sex kept me from turning her out

on the spot.



September 1: Encouraged by the Skye episode, a group of volunteers is

being formed to attempt an attack on the Grass covering the Channel

Islands. More than can possibly be used are offering their services. I

subscribed L10,000 toward the venture.



Preparations for moving to Kilkenny almost complete. Even if F gets

going by December and the Scottish repulse is permanent, I believe I

shall be better off in Ireland until the first definite victory is won

against the Grass.



September 5: The Grass moved again and this time all attempts to

repulse it failed. It is now firmly entrenched on both the Orkneys and

the Hebrides. Terrible pessimism. Commons voted "No confidence" 422 to

117 and my old friend D N is back in office.



September 6: Sisyphus almost ready. Find I can get a crew to work

for wages when not in port. Luncheon at Chequers. PM urges me not to

leave England as it might shake confidence. I told him I would consider

the matter.



September 7: F says she is ready to make new tests and what is holding

up work on the Sisyphus? Replied it was complete except for my cabins.

She had the effrontery to say these werent important and she was ready

to go ahead without me. I pointed out that the Sisyphus was my

property and it would not sail until I was properly accommodated.





99. September 8: I shall not move to Ireland afterall. The Grass has

a foothold in Ulster.



September 9: The Irish are swarming into Scotland and Wales.

Impossible to keep them out.



September 10: Donegal overrun.



September 12: On board the Sisyphus. Wrote an incredible amount;

still beyond me how anybody can call the fashioning of a book work. We

left Southampton last night on a full tide and are now cruising the

Channel about four miles from the French coast. It is quite

unbelievable--under this tropical green blanket lies the continent of

Europe, the home of civilization. And the bodies of millions, too.

Except for a few gulls who shriek their way inland and return

dejectedly, there is not a living thing in sight but the Grass.



I have reserved the afterdeck to myself and as I sit here now,

scribbling these notes, I think what impresses me more than anything

else is the feeling of vitality which radiates from the herbaceous

coast. The dead continent is alive, alive as never before--wholly

alive; moving with millions of sensitive feelers in every direction. For

the first time I have a feeling of sympathy for Joe's constant talk of

the beauty of the Grass, but in spite of this, the question which comes

to my mind is, can you speak glibly about the beauty of something which

has strangled nearly all the world?



Later: Sitting on the gently swaying deck, I was moved to add several

pages to my history. But now we are approaching the narrower part of the

Channel and the sea is getting choppy. I shall have to give up my

jottings for a while.



Still later: F finally picked a spot she considered suitable--the

remains of a small harbor--and we anchored. I must say she was

overfussy--one cove is pretty much the same as another these days.

Possibly she was so choosy in order to heighten her importance.



Repetition of the involved etiquette of inspecting the intended victim

and turning on the sprays; only this time the suppressed excitement

anticipating possible success made even the preliminaries interesting.

Miss Francis and her assistants retired for a mysterious conference

immediately after the application and I stayed up late talking with the

captain till he was called away by some duty. It is now nearly two A M--in

a few hours we shall know.



September 13: Horribly shaken this morning to find the Grass

unaffected. Even wondered for a moment if it were conceivable that F

would never find the right compound--that nothing could hurt the Grass.

Had I been illadvised in not going more seriously into Burlet's vertical

cities?



F very phlegmatic about it. Says another twelve hours of observation may

be of value. She and A rowed ashore over the runners trailing in the

water and with great difficulty succeeded in hacking off a few runners

of the sprayed Grass. I thought her undertaking this hazard an absurd

piece of bravado--she might just as well have sent someone else.



Disregarding her rudeness in not inviting me, I accompanied her unasked

to her laboratory-cabin. She laid the stolons on an enamelsurfaced table

and busied herself with some apparatus. I could not take my eyes from

these segments of the Grass. They lay on the table, not specimens of

vegetation, but stunned creatures ready to spring to vigorous and

vengeful life when they recovered. It was impossible not to pick one up

and run it through my fingers, feeling again the soft, electric touch.



Miss Francis' preparations were interminable. If she follows such an

elaborate ritual for the mere checking of an unsuccessful experiment no

wonder she is taking years to get anywhere. My attention wandered and I

started to leave the cabin when I noticed my hand still held one of the

specimens.



It was withered and dry.





100. September 17: The enthusiasm greeting the discovery that F's

reagent mortally affected the Grass was only tempered by the dampening

thought that its action had been incomplete. What good was the lethal

compound if its work were final only when the sprayed parts were

severed?



F seemed to think it was a great deal of good. Her manner toward me,

boisterous and quite out of keeping with our respective positions and

sexes, could almost be called friendly. During the return to Southampton

she constantly clapped me on the back and shouted, "It's over, Weener;

it's all over now."



"But it isnt over," I protested. "Your spray hadnt the slightest direct

effect on the Grass."



"Oh, that. That's nothing. A mere impediment. A matter of time only."



"Time only! Good God, do you realize the Grass is halfway through

Ireland? That we are surrounded now on four sides?"



"A lastminute rescue is quite in the best tradition. Don't disturb

yourself; you will live to gloat over the deaths of better men."



I urged the PM to be cautious about overoptimism in giving out the news.

He nodded his head solemnly in agreement, but he evidently couldnt

communicate whatever wisdom he possessed to the BBC announcer, for he,

in butter voice, spoke as though Miss Francis had actually destroyed a

great section of the weed upon the French coast. There were celebrations

in the streets of London and a vast crowd visited the cenotaph and sang

Rule Britannia.



September 18: Hoping to find F in a calmer mood, I asked her today

just how long she meant by "a matter of time"? She shrugged it off. "Not

more than four or five months," she said blithely.



"In a month at most the Grass will be in Britain."



"Let it come," she responded callously. "We shall take the Sisyphus

and conclude our work there."



"But millions will die in the meantime," I protested.



She turned on me with what I can only describe as tigrish ferocity. "Did

you think of the millions you condemned to death when you refused to

sell concentrates to the Asiatic refugees?"



"How could I sell to people who couldnt buy?"



"And the millions who died because you refused them employment?"



"Am I responsible for those too shiftless to fend for themselves?"



"'Am I my brother's keeper?' If fifty million Englishmen die because I

cannot hasten the process of trial and error, the guilt is mine and I

admit it. I do not seek to exculpate myself by pointing a finger at you

or by silly and pompous evasions of my responsibility. If the Grass

comes before I am ready, the fault is mine. In the meantime, while one

creature remains alive, even if his initials be A W, I shall seek to

preserve him. As long as there is a foothold on land I shall try on

land; and when that fails we shall board the Sisyphus and finish our

work there, somewhere in the Atlantic."



"You mean you definitely abandon hope of perfecting your compound before

England goes?"



"I abandon nothing," she replied. "I think it's quite possible I'll

finish in time to save England, but I can't afford to do anything but

look forward to the worst. And that is that we'll be driven to the

sea."



I was appalled by the picture her words elicited: a few ships containing

the survivors; a world covered with the Grass.



"And when success is attained we shall fight our way back inch by inch."



But this piece of bombast didnt hearten me. I had no desire to fight our

way back inch by inch; I wanted at least a fragment of civilization

salvaged.



September 19: F has not been the only one to think of the high seas as

a final refuge. The London office has been literally besieged by men of

wealth eager to pay any price to charter one of our ships. I have given

orders to grant no more charters for the present.



September 20: The enthusiasm is subsiding and people are beginning to

ask how long it will be before they can expect the reconquest of the

Continent to begin. BBC spoke cautiously about "perfection" of the

compound for the first time, opening the way to the implication that it

doesnt work as yet. Added quite a bit to my manuscript.



September 21: Mrs H, in very dignified mood, approached me; said she

heard I had made plans to leave England in case the Grass threatened.

She asked nothing for herself, she said, being quite content to accept

whatever fate Providence had in store for her, but, would I take her

daughter and family along on the Sisyphus? They would be quite useful,

she added lamely.



I said I would give the matter my attention, but assured her there was

no immediate danger.



September 22: Grass on the Isle of Man.



September 23: Ordered stocking of the Sisyphus with as much

concentrates as she can carry. The supply will be ample for a full crew,

F's staff and myself for at least six months.



September 24: Ive known for years that F is insane, but her latest

phase is so fantastic and preposterous I can hardly credit it. She

demands flatly the Sisyphus take along at least fifty "nubile females

in order to restock the world after its reconquest." After catching my

breath I argued with her. The prospect of England's loss was by no means

certain yet.



"Good. We'll give the girls a seavoyage and land them back safe and

sound."



"We have enough supplies for six months; if we take along these

superfluous passengers our time will be cut to less than three."



Her answer was a brutal piece of blackmail. "No women, no go."



If F were a young man instead of an elderly woman I could understand

this aberration better.



September 25: It seems Mrs H's grandchildren are all girls between

twelve and eighteen, which leaves the problem of fulfilling F's

ultimatum to finding fortyseven others. I have delegated the selection

to Mrs H.



September 26: Grass on Skye for the second time. This invasion was not

repulsed.



September 27: The cyclone fans have been set up from Moray Firth to

the Firth of Lorne. I am in two minds about asking the Tharios to join

us.



The bill authorizing the construction of a vertical city at Stonehenge

passed Commons.



September 28: Grass reported near Aberdeen. Panic in Scotland. No more

train service.



September 29: Day of fasting, humiliation and prayer proclaimed by the

Archbishop of Canterbury. Grass south of the Dee. All mines shut down.



September 30: Every seaworthy vessel, and many not seaworthy, now

under charter. I have ordered all remaining stores of concentrates

loaded on our own hulls, to be manned by skeleton crews. They will stand

by the Sisyphus on her voyage. Lack of railway transportation making

things difficult.



October 1: They have actually broken ground at Stonehenge for Burlet's

fantastic city.



October 2: Wrote on my book for nearly twelve solid hours. The postal

service has been stopped.



October 3: Hearing the royal family had made no plans for departure,

the London office ventured to offer them accommodations on one of our

ships. I had always heard the House of Windsor was meticulous in its

politeness, but I cannot characterize their rejection of our wellmeant

aid as anything but rude.



October 4: Mrs H asks, Are we to live solely on concentrates now the

shops are shut? My query as to whether this seemed objectionable to her

was evaded.



October 5: Grass in Inverness and Perthshire.



October 6: F announces she is ready for another test. Under present

conditions, the journey to Scotland being out of the question, we

decided to use the Sisyphus again and the French coast. Leaving

tomorrow.



October 11: This constant series of frustrations is beyond endurance.

In spite of F's noncommittal pessimism anticipating success only after

the Grass has covered England, I feel she is merely making some sort of

propitiatory gesture when she looks on the darkest side of the picture

that way. As for myself I'm convinced the Grass will be stopped in a

week or so. But in the meantime F's work advances by the inch, only to

be set back again and again.



We repeated the previous test with just enough added success to give our

failure the quality of supreme exasperation. This time there was no

question but what the growth sprayed actually withered within twentyfour

hours. But it was not wiped out and not long afterward it was overrun

and covered up by a new and vigorous mass. Such a victory early in the

fight would have meant something; now it is too late for such piecemeal

destruction. We must have a counteragent which communicates its lethal

effect to a larger area of the Grass than is actually touched by it--or

at very least makes the affected spot untenable for future growth.



What help is it for F to rub her hands smugly and say, "We're on the

right track, all right"? Weve been on the right track for months, but

the train doesnt get anywhere.



October 12: Columbus Day.



October 13: Grass in Fife and Stirling. BBC urges calm.



October 14: Rumor has it work abandoned at Stonehenge. It was a

futile gesture anyway. I'm sure F will perfect the counteragent anyday.



October 15: Mrs H announced she has completed her selection of fifty

young women, adding, "I hope they will prove satisfactory, sir." For a

horrible moment I wondered if she thought I was arranging for a harem.



October 16: Decided, purely as a matter of convenience and not from

panic, such as is beginning to affect even the traditionally stolid

British, to move aboard the Sisyphus. Grass on the outskirts of

Edinburgh.



October 17: In a burst of energy last night I brought my history down

to the Grass in Europe.



Disconcerting hitch. Most of the Sisyphus' crew, including the

captain, want to take their wives along. I find it difficult to believe

them all uxoriously wed--at any rate this is not a pleasure excursion.

Agreed the captain should take his and told him to effect some

compromise on the others. The capacity of the Sisyphus is not elastic.



October 18: Grass almost to the Tweed. PM on the wireless with the

assurance a counteragent will be perfected within the week. F furious;

wanted to know if I couldnt control my politicians better. I answered

meekly--really, her anger was ludicrous--that I was an American citizen,

not part of the British electorate, and therefore had no influence over

the prime minister of Great Britain. Seriously, however, perhaps the

premature announcement will spur her on.



The erratic phone service finally stopped altogether.



October 19: Riots and looting--unEnglish manifestations carried out in

a very English way. Hysterical orators called for the destruction of all

foreign refugees from the Grass, or at very least their exclusion from

the benefits of the lootings. In every case the mob answered them in

almost identical language: "Fair play," "Share and share alike," "Yer

nyme Itler, maybe?" "Come orf it, sonny, oo er yew? Gord Orlmighty's

furriner, aint E?" Having heckled the speakers, they proceeded

cheerfully to clean out all stocks of available goods--the refugees

getting their just shares. There must be a peculiar salubrity about the

English air. Otherwise Britons could not act so differently at home and

abroad.



Thankful indeed all Consolidated Pemmican stores safely loaded.



October 20: As anticipated, the Grass crossed the Tweed into

Northumberland, but quite unexpectedly England has also been invaded

from another quarter. Norfolk has the Grass from Yarmouth to Cromer. F,

the PM, and myself hanged in effigy. Shall not tarry much longer.



October 21: Durham and Suffolk. Consulted the captain about a set of

auxiliary sails for the Sisyphus. Moving aboard tonight.



October 22: Heard indirectly that the Tharios had managed to charter a

seagoing tug on shares with friends. This takes a great load off my

mind.



Postponed moving to the ship in order to superintend packing of personal

possessions, including the manuscript of my history. F says it is still

not impossible to perfect compound before the Grass reaches London.



October 23: On board the Sisyphus. What has become of the stolid

heroism of the English people? On the way down to the ship, I ran into a

crowd no better behaved than the adherents of the Republic One and

Indivisible. I mention the episode lightly, but it was no laughing

matter. I was lucky to escape with my life.



Nervous and upset with the strain. I shall not return to The Ivies till

the Grass begins its retreat. Too restless to continue my book. Paced

the deck a long time.



October 24: The fifty girls arrived, and a more maddening cargo I

can't imagine. I gave orders to keep them forward, but their shrill

presence nevertheless penetrates aft.



I hear all electricity has been cut off. Grass in Yorkshire.



October 25: F came aboard with the other scientists and immediately

wanted to know why we didnt set sail. I asked her if her work could be

carried on any more easily at sea. She shrugged her shoulders. I pointed

out that only rats leave a sinking ship and England was far from

overcome. She favored me with one of her fixed stares.



"You are dithery, Weener. Your epigrams have lost their jaunty air of

discovery and your face is almost green."



"You would not expect me to remain unaffected by the events around us,

Miss Francis."



"Wouldnt I?" she retorted incomprehensibly and went below to her

cabin-laboratory.



The Grass is reported in Essex and Hertfordshire. I understand there are

at least two other ships equipped for research and manned by English

scientists. It would serve F right if they perfected a counteragent

first.



October 26: Have ordered our accompanying ships to lie offshore, lest

they be boarded by fearcrazed refugees, for the Grass is now in the

vicinity of London and England is in a horrible state.



October 27: BBC transmitting from Penzance. Faint.





101. November 3: On board the Sisyphus off Scilly. The last days

of England have passed. Heightening the horror, the BBC in its final

moments forwent its policy of soothing its listeners and urging calmness

upon them. Instead, it organized an amazing news service, using

thousands of pigeons carrying messages from eyewitnesses to the station

at Penzance to give a minutebyminute account of the end. Dispassionately

and detachedly, as though this were some ordinary disaster, announcer

after announcer went on the air and read reports; heartpiercing,

anticlimactic, tragic, trivial, noble and thoroughly English reports....



The people vented their futile rage and terror in mass pyromania.

Building after building, city after city was burned to the ground. But,

according to the BBC, the murderous frenzy of the Continent was not

duplicated. Inanimate things suffered; priceless art objects were kicked

around in the streets, but houses were carefully emptied of inhabitants

before being put to the torch.



These were the spectacular happenings; the emphatic events. Behind them,

and in the majority, were quieter, duller transactions. Churches and

chapels filled with people sitting quiet in pews, meditating; gatherings

in the country, where the participants looked at the sun, earth and sky;

vast meetings in Hyde Park proclaiming the indissoluble brotherhood of

man, even in the face of extinction.



We heard the Queen and her consort remained in Buckingham Palace to the

last, but this may be only romantic rumor. At all events, England is

gone now, after weathering a millennium of unsuccessful invasions. From

where I sit peacefully, bringing my history uptodate and jotting these

notes in my diary, I can see, faintly with the naked eye or quite

distinctly through a telescope, that emerald gem set in a silver sea.

The great cities are covered; the barren moors, the lovely lakes, the

gentle streams, the forbidding crags are all mantled in one grassy

sward. England is gone, and with it the world. What few men of

forethought who have taken to ships, what odd survivors there may be in

arctic wastes or on lofty Andean or Himalayan peaks, together with the

complement of the Sisyphus and its accompanying escort are all that

survive of humanity. It is an awesome thought.





Later: Reading this over it seems almost as though I had been untrue

to my fundamental philosophy. The world has gone, vanished; but perhaps

it is for the best, afterall. We shall start again in a few days with a

clean slate, picking up from where we left off--for we have books and

tools and men of learning and intelligence--to start a new and better

world the moment the Grass retreats. I am heartened by the thought.



Below, Miss Francis and her coworkers are striving for the solution.

After the last experiment there can be no question as to the outcome. An

hour ago I would have written that it was deplorable this outcome

couldnt be achieved before the latest victory of the Grass. Now I begin

to believe it may be a lucky delay.



November 4: What meaning have dates now? We shall have to have a new

calendar--Before the Grass and After the Grass.



November 5: Moved by some incomprehensible morbidity I had a stainless

steel chest, complete with floats, made before embarkation in order to

place the manuscript and diary in it should the impossible happen. I

have it now on the deck beside me as a reminder never to give way to a

weak despair. F promises me it is a matter of days if not hours till we

can return to our native element.



November 8: Another test. Almost completely successful. F certain the

next one will do it. My emotions are exhausted.



November 9: I have completed my history of the Grass down to the

commencement of this diary. I shall take a wellearned rest from my

literary labors for a few days. F announces a new test--"the final one,

Weener, the final one"--for tomorrow.



November 10: Experiment with the now perfected compound has been put

off one more day. F is completely calm and confident of the outcome. She

is below now, making lastminute preparations. For the first time she has

infected me with her certitude--although I never doubted ultimate

success--and I feel tomorrow will actually see the beginning of the end

for the Grass which started so long ago on Mrs Dinkman's lawn. How far I

and the world have come since then!



Would I go back to that day if I had the power? It seems an absurd

question, but there is no doubt we who have survived have gained

spiritual stature. Of course I do not mean anything mystical or

supernatural by this observation--we have acquired heightened

sensitivity and new perceptions. Brother Paul, ridiculous mountebank,

was yet correct in this--the Grass chastised us rightly. Whatever sins

mankind committed have been wiped out and expiated.



Later: We are out of sight of land; nothing but sea and sky, no green

anywhere. On the eve of liberation all sorts of absurd and irrelevant

thoughts jump about in my mind. The strange lady ... Joe's symphony,

burned by his mother. Whatever happened to William Rufus Le ffacase

after he eschewed his profession for superstition? And Mrs Dinkman? For

some annoying reason I am beset with the thought of Mrs Dinkman.



I can see her pincenez illadjusted on her nose. I can hear her

highpitched complaining voice bargaining with me over the cost of

inoculating her lawn. The ugly stuff of her tasteless dress is before my

eyes. It is so real to me I swear I can see the poor, irregular lines of

the weaving.



Still later: I have sat here in a dull lethargy, undoubtedly induced

by my overwrought state, quite understandable in the light of what is to

happen in a few hours, my eyes on the seams of the deck, reviewing all

the things I have written in my book, preparing myself, a way, for the

glorious and triumphant finish. But I am beset by delusions. A moment

ago it was the figure of Mrs Dinkman and now--



And now, by all the horror that has overcome mankind, it is a waving,

creeping, insatiable runner of the Grass.



Again: I have made no attempt to pinch off the green stolon. It must

be three inches long by now and the slim end is waving in the wind,

seeking for a suitable spot to assure its hold doubly. I touched it with

my hand, but I could not bring myself to harm it.



I managed to drag my eyes away from the plant and go below to see Miss

Francis. I stood outside the cabin for a long time, listening to the

noise and laughter, coupled with a note of triumph I had never heard

before and which I'm sure indicates indubitable success. There can be no

question of that.



There can be no question of that.



The stolon has pressed itself into another seam.



The blades are very green. They have opened themselves to the sun and

are sucking strength for the new shoots. I have put my manuscript into

the casket which floats, leaving it open for this diary if it should be

necessary. But of course such a contingency is absurd.



Absolutely absurd.



The Grass has found another seam in the deck.