"Oh, it's more than that! It's the people, too, and the knowledge that more Slags may appear. If all the matches suddenly...." She broke off, frowning, as if uncertain whether to continue. "You see, Granny, Tony decided to play because of that. It wasn't even the charities, really. The people distrust you. Not just because you were wrong, but because they are suspicious of any probing into the powers of mind. They prefer fantasy to scientific hypothesis, and now Slag's triumphs...." She faltered, and unhappily twisted her face away.
"But Tony could have crushed Slag, too."
"You know that was different. He had Slag hypnotized first. But Tony was awake when the ball struck!"
"You're right, Bee. Frankly, I don't know what the answer could be. I'm working on the core of the ball. There is a chance—"
"I'm sure it was something else! Granny, have you thought of the screen? There must have been a leak, or a failure. Think of that crowd, hoping for their hero. Suppose they subconsciously influenced the sphere, directed it at Tony."
He thought of the mob's reaction when Slag was helpless, and kept silent. It would be cruel to blast her one hope with nothing to offer in exchange.
"You think I'm wrong, but what else would it be? The ball couldn't kill Tony by itself." Then she was in tears. "I should have been there to stop it. He wouldn't take a second—I begged him to let me—and I would have sensed any outside influence!"
Grant recognized the guilt feelings she was suffering from. He tried to give comfort, but suddenly she was a woman, proud and independent, and would not stay. Only at the door for one moment did she turn appealingly to him.
"Granny, you're not going to play Slag!"
"Do you want me to? Should I obey the roar of the mob? And look!" He gestured at one of the papers, where a center-page box proclaimed, 'Commissioner Rules Out Lane-Slag Match.' "At thirty-seven they say I'm too old to play."