Anyone can make an error, but the higher the society... the more disastrous the mistake!
wearing her new Chinese red housecoat, had just lustered her nails to a blinding scarlet, and Harry Junior was sleeping like an angel.
Yawning, Melinda answered the door and the little man said, beaming, "Excellent day. I have geegaws for information."
Melinda did not quite recoil. He was perhaps five feet tall, with a gleaming hairless scalp and a young-old face. He wore a plain gray tunic, and a peddler's tray hung from his thin shoulders.
"Don't want any," Melinda stated flatly.
"Please." He had great, beseeching amber eyes. "They all say that. I haven't much time. I must be back at the University by noon."
"You working your way through college?"
He brightened. "Yes. I suppose you could call it that. Alien anthropology major."
When the interstellar student interviewed Melinda for his class, he left behind the hair-growth solution and the neural distorter. The first was harmless enough, but the distorter seemed to give newborn Harry Junior some strange ideas.
A mildly funny pulp story: no brilliant characterizations or astounding plot leaps, just worth a few chuckles.
