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One of the most disquieting aspects of the advance was its variability and unpredictability. To the west, it had hardly gone five blocks from the Dinkman house, while southward it had crossed Santa Monica Boulevard and was nosing toward Melrose. Its growth had been measured and checked, over and over again, but the figures were never constant.
Mrs Dinkman prudently holding the total, he unloaded the powermower with many flourishes, making quite an undertaking of oiling and adjusting the roller, setting the blades; bending down to assure himself of the gasoline in the small tank, finally wheeling the contraption into place with great spirit.
It cut a new six inches readily, another foot slowly and then with jolts and misfires and loud imprecations from the gardener, it gave up again. "You," judged Mrs Dinkman, "don't know how to cut grass." The gardener wiped his sweaty forehead with the inside of his wrist. "You you should have a law against you," he answered bitterly and inadequately.
Under my feet I felt the springiness of the grass; was it pure fancy or did it truly differ in quality from the lawns I'd trod so indifferently the day before? I took the handle. If oiling had improved the machine, its previous efficiency must have been slight. It went shakily over the first inch of grass and then, as it had for Mrs Dinkman, it stopped for me.
"Listen, lady, when I get through this job I'll have to take my mower apart and have it resharpened. You think I can afford to do that for a tendollar job?" "Ten dollars," repeated Mrs Dinkman firmly. The gardener appealed to the gallery. "Listen, folks: now I ask you is this fair? I'm willing to be reasonable.
"... Station KPAR, The Voice of Edendale, reaching you from a portable transmitter located in the street in front of what was formerly the residence of Mr and Mrs Dinkman. I guess youve all heard the story of how their lawn was allegedly sprinkled with some chemical which made the grass run wild. I don't know anything about that, but I want to tell you this grass is certainly running wild.
Still later: I have sat here in a dull lethargy, undoubtedly induced by my overwrought state, quite understandable in the light of what is to happen in a few hours, my eyes on the seams of the deck, reviewing all the things I have written in my book, preparing myself, a way, for the glorious and triumphant finish. But I am beset by delusions. A moment ago it was the figure of Mrs Dinkman and now
Whatever I decided, it was advisable for me to leave this vicinity. I was in no financial position to soothe Mrs Dinkman and it was dubious, in view of her attitude, whether it would be possible to sell any more in the immediate neighborhood. Probably a new territory was the answer to my problem; a few sales would give me both cash in hand and time to think.
Now ... now, baby ... well, if youre going to be formal gimme W R." He turned to me and leered while he waited. "... Chief? Gootes. Got the Dinkman story. You know Freak Growth Swallows Hollywood Mansion. Yeah. Yeah. I know. But, Chief this was what I wanted you for on the followup; I have the fellow who put the stuff on the grass. Yeah. Sure I did. Yeah.
The firemen seemed quite accustomed to this sort of irrationality, and paying no heed to the rush of words inaudible to us on the street bursting from her, they coaxed her expertly up onto the roof. Here she stood, statuesquely outlined against the bright sky, berating her succorers, until Mr Dinkman, rounded, bald, and calm, joined her.
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