The reassembling of Denny's body had done odd things. Jim had set the broken bone with rough skill before stepping under the glass bell; and the fracture had been healed automatically by the growing deposit of protoplasmic substance resulting when Matt threw his switch.
But Denny's missing finger had baffled the reversing process. With no tiny pattern to form around, the former substance of his finger had simply gathered in a shapeless knob of flesh and bone like a tumorous growth sprouting from his hand. It would have to be amputated.
But the marvels performed under Matthew Breen's glass bell were far secondary to the two men. The things they had recently seen and undergone, and the possibility of telling folks about them, occupied their attention exclusively.
"Then you're not going to write a monograph on the real nature of termites, as you'd planned?" Jim asked Denny.
Denny shrugged dispiritedly. "People would take it for a joke instead of a scientific treatise if I did," he said.
Jim puffed reflectively at his pipe. A thought had come, to him that seemed to hold certain elements of possibility.
"Why not do this," he suggested: "Write it up first as a straight story, and see if people will believe it. Then, if they do, you can rewrite it as scientific fact."
And eventually they decided to do just that. And—here is their story.
Transcriber's Note: