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Eliot smiled, held out his hand. "You'll have to forgive me—I've forgotten your name."

Roland's self-esteem was so low that he was not surprised at being forgotten by a man whom he had visited at least once a day for the past year. "Wanted to thank you for saving my life."

"For what?"

"My life, Mr. Rosewater—you saved it, whatever it is."

"You're exaggerating, surely."

"You're the only one who didn't think what happened to me was funny. Maybe you won't think a poem is funny, either." He thrust a piece of paper into Eliot's hand. "I cried while I wrote it. That's how funny it was to me. That's how funny everything is to me." He ran away.

Perplexed, Eliot read the poem, which went like this:

"Lakes, carillonst, Pools and bells, Fifes and freshets, Harps and wells; Flutes and rivers, Streams, bassoons, Geysers, trumpets, Chimes, lagoons. Hear the music, Drink the water, As we poor lambs All go to slaughter. I love you Eliot. Good-bye. I cry. Tears and violins. Hearts and flowers, Flowers and tears. Rosewater, good-bye."

Eliot arrived at the Saw City Kandy Kitchen without further incident. Only the proprietor and one customer were inside. The customer was a fourteen-year-old nymphet, pregnant by her stepfather, which stepfather was in prison now. The Foundation was paying for her medical care. It had also reported the stepfather's crime to the police, had subsequently hired for him the best Indiana lawyer that money could buy.

The girl's name was Tawny Wainwright. When she brought her troubles to Eliot, he asked her how her spirits were. "Well," she said, "I guess I don't feel too bad. I guess this is as good a way as any to start out being a movie star."

She was drinking a Coca Cola and reading The American Investigator now. She glanced furtively at Eliot once. That was the last time.

"A ticket to Indianapolis, please."

"One way or round trip, Eliot?"

Eliot did not hesitate. "One way, if you please."

Tawny's glass nearly toppled. She caught it in time.

"One way to Indianapolis!" said the proprietor loudly. "Here you are, sir!" He validated Eliot's ticket with a stamp savagely, handed over the ticket, turned quickly away. He didn't look at Eliot again, either.

Eliot, unaware of any strain, drifted over to the magazine and book racks for something to read on the trip. He was tempted by the Investigator, opened it, scanned a story about a seven-year-old girl who had had her head eaten off by a bear in Yellowstone Park in 1934. He returned it to the rack, selected instead a paperback book by Kilgore Trout. It was called Pan-Galactic Three-Day Pass.

The bus blew its flatulent horns outside.

As Eliot boarded the bus, Diana Moon Glampers appeared. She was sobbing. She was carrying her white Princess telephone, dragging its uprooted wire behind her. "Mr. Rosewater!"

"Yes?"

She smashed the telephone on the pavement by the door of the bus. "I don't need a telephone any more. Nobody for me to call up. Nobody to call me up."

He sympathized with her, but he did not recognize her. "I'm—I'm sorry. I don't understand."

"You don't what?"

"It's me, Mr. Rosewater! It's Diana! It's Diana Moon Glampers!"

"I'm pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet me?"

"I really am—but—but, what's this about a telephone?"

"You were the only reason I needed one."

"Oh, now—" he said, doubtingly, "you surely have many other acquaintances."

"Oh, Mr. Rosewater—" she sobbed, and she sagged against the bus, "you're my only friend."

"You can make more, surely," Eliot suggested hopefully.

"Oh God!" she cried.

"You could join some church group, perhaps."

"You're my church group! You're my everything! You're my government. You're my husband. You're my friends."

These claims made Eliot uncomfortable. "You're very nice to say so. Good luck to you. I really have to be going now." He waved. "Goodbye."

Eliot now began to read Pan-Galactic Three-Day Pass. There was more fussing outside the bus, but Eliot didn't think it had anything to do with him. He was immediately enchanted