The little jar of paint had brought it about. Homer had sent a jar like it to C. J. Fader suggesting that it be placed on the market. All Homer had wanted was a fat check, and a royalty which he could invest so he could retire someday. Instead, C. J. Fader had offered him a job. The Old Man, who ran the principal industry of Faderfield, would expect a new formula a month and Homer was afraid he might not be able to turn one out every month. Homer knew enough about C. J. to realize that if he offered ten thousand, he would expect a ninety-thousand profit. Homer could qualify for the first figure, but he wasn't so sure about the second.
And then the door bell rang.
Homer glanced out the window at the row of lighted houses across the street. He lived by himself in a little four-room cottage near the junior college. Twice a week the cleaning woman got rid of the male litter and on Saturdays a student did the outside work to keep the little rented home in trim with the rest of the neat little neighborhood. Homer managed by himself the rest of the time.
Whoever was at the door was not in line with the window. Callers were not infrequent. There were three other bachelor males in the chemistry department who dropped in occasionally. And some of the neighbors came over from time to time, usually to borrow a book. Students sometimes came to see him, especially when their grades were low.
Homer opened the door. It was not a bachelor friend. It was not a neighbor. It was not a student. It was a very pretty young woman. She was dressed like she was going to a masquerade, with spangled tights, or something of that nature, a glittering tiara and shoes covered with rhinestones.
Her hair was black and her eyes were brown. There was a faint flush on her cheeks that looked well with the ivory shade of her smooth skin.
Without being invited, she stepped past Homer and into the house. She looked around, from floor to the ceiling. She strode across the room and sank down on Homer's overstuffed divan.
"I like this place," she said. "Do you want to move, or will you share it with me?"
"Uh?" Homer laughed nervously. "I beg pardon?"
"What for? You didn't do anything."