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Paul looked down into his microscope once more, looked at nothing—while a prickling sensation spread over his skin. He faced the truth: The man and woman would kill each other, if he didn’t stop them.

He beat on the wall with his fist. "Mr. Harger! Stop it!" he cried. "Mrs. Harger! Stop it!"

"For Ollie from Lavina!" All-Night Sam cried back at him. "For Ruth from Carl, who’ll never forget last Tuesday! For Wilbur from Mary, who’s lonesome tonight! Here’s the Sauter-Finnegan Band asking, Love, What Are You Doing to My Heart?"

Next door, crockery smashed, filling a split second of radio silence. And then the tidal wave of music drowned everything again.

Paul stood by the wall, trembling in his helplessness. "Mr. Harger! Mrs. Harger! Please!"

"Remember the number!" said All-Night Sam. "Milton nine-three-thousand!’’

Dazed, Paul went to the phone and dialed the number.

"WJCD," said the switchboard operator.

"Would you kindly connect me with All-Night Sam?" said Paul.

"Hello!" said All-Night Sam. He was eating, talking with a full mouth. In the background, Paul could hear sweet, bleating music, the original of what was rending the radio next door.

"I wonder if I might make a dedication," said Paul.

"Dunno why not," said Sam. "Ever belong to any organization listed as subversive by the Attorney General’s office?"

Paul thought a moment. "Nossir—I don’t think so, sir," he said.

"Shoot," said Sam.

"From Mr. Lemuel K. Harger to Mrs. Harger," said Paul.

"What’s the message?" said Sam.

"I love you," said Paul. "Let’s make up and start all over again."

The woman’s voice was so shrill with passion that it cut through the din of the radio, and even Sam heard it.

"Kid—are you in trouble?" said Sam. "Your folks fighting?"

Paul was afraid that Sam would hang up on him if he found out that Paul wasn’t a blood relative of the Hargers. "Yessir," he said.

"And you’re trying to pull ’em back together again with this dedication?" said Sam.

"Yessir," said Paul.

Sam became very emotional. "O.K., kid," he said hoarsely, "I’ll give it everything I’ve got. Maybe it’ll work. I once saved a guy from shooting himself the same way."

"How did you do that?" said Paul, fascinated.

"He called up and said he was gonna blow his brains out," said Sam, "and I played The Bluebird of Happiness." He hung up.

Paul dropped the telephone into its cradle. The music stopped, and Paul’s hair stood on end. For the first time, the fantastic speed of modern communications was real to him, and he was appalled.

"Folks!" said Sam, "I guess everybody stops and wonders sometimes what the heck he thinks he’s doin’ with the life the good Lord gave him! It may seem funny to you folks, because I always keep up a cheerful front, no matter how I feel inside, that I wonder sometimes, too! And then, just like some angel was trying to tell me, ’Keep going, Sam, keep going,’ something like this comes along."

"Folks!" said Sam, "I’ve been asked to bring a man and his wife back together again through the miracle of radio! I guess there’s no sense in kidding ourselves about marriage! It isn’t any bowl of cherries! There’s ups and downs, and sometimes folks don’t see how they can go on!"

Paul was impressed with the wisdom and authority of Sam. Having the radio turned up high made sense now, for Sam was speaking like the right-hand man of God.

When Sam paused for effect, all was still next door. Already the miracle was working.

"Now," said Sam, "a guy in my business has to be half musician, half philosopher, half psychiatrist, and half electrical engineer! And! If I’ve learned one thing from working with all you wonderful people out there, it’s this: if folks would swallow their self-respect and pride, there wouldn’t be any more divorces!"

There were affectionate cooings from next door. A lump grew in Paul’s throat as he thought about the beautiful thing he and Sam were bringing to pass.

"Folks!" said Sam, "that’s all I’m gonna say about love and marriage! That’s all anybody needs to know! And now, for Mrs. Lemuel K. Harger, from Mr. Harger—I love you!