Because it was Monday, I arose at five to do a run to prepare mitochondrial DNA in the lab. It would take about eleven hours, so I had to get an early start. I decided to shower before I ate. It appeared to be an ordinary day in late June.

My boss, Doctor Green, arrived around ten, about the time I was separating the mitochondria in the ultracentrifuge. He asked to seem me in his office when I could. Nearly an hour later, I walked into more adventure than I could handle alone.

"How would you like to do something different next week?" Green broached.

"What do you have in mind?"

"I've just received a letter from the University of Toronto . A geneticist named Malcolm Chrome wants me to come for a conference. I cannot go because I have other plans for Independence Day. However, Chrome suggested I send a representative. Surely you know enough on my research on potato mitochondrial DNA."

"I'll say," I muttered. "I've been doing it over a year."

"Fine. Then you'll be leaving on Saturday."

"Wait a minute," I objected. "Saturday's Dominion Day. Will I have trouble traveling on that day?"

"I don't think so. I'll check when I buy the plane ticket."

Saturday is also Keith's birthday, I thought as I left the office. Too bad he didn't live to see it.


Saturday the First dawned just like any other day. I could feel the heat when I first arose. I hoped Toronto would prove cooler than State College.

I had just brought my suitcases down the stairs when Green's car pulled up. To my surprise, in the front seat sat Tim Miskey, an undergraduate majoring in genetics and biophysics. Tim turned his lentiginous and somatotonic visage into a smile.

"Tim, what're you doing here?"

"I can't resist a genetics conference," he replied simply while nodding his ruddy blond hair.

I laughed at this remark, and we enjoyed each other's company the rest of the way. Normally it takes eight hours to drive to Toronto. On a jet we were there before noon. Green had reserved a double room for Tim and me, so we dropped off our suitcases at the hotel before we headed for the university. After a quick lunch, we walked a few blocks to the conference. This genetics exhibition began at noon, but we did not have to arrive until two o'clock for the Chrome seminar.

Tim and I reached the room about five minutes to two. It was set up for thirty with tables in an oblong and the chairs on the periphery. We inconspicuously drifted toward the far end until Tim noticed the placards. Chrome had placed "Green and guest" at the front on the right. We had wanted to be humble, but circumstances made us presumptuous. Almost embarrassedly we accepted our fate and sat at the reserved spot.

Just after we settled ourselves, a quinquagenarian entered the room. He looked like a typical professor: wild, pullback hair surrounding a tonsure. He peered at Tim and me through his Franklin eyeglasses.
"Neither of you look like Paul Green," he announced in a stentorian voice.

Tim's Celtic skin became wan as he sat speechless. I turned my gaze back to the speaker. "Your letter stated that he could send a representative," I shot back as loudly.

The man's face became quizzical. Then he recomposed himself .
"I'm Malcolm Chrome," he said simply, as though it had been obvious. "Which of you is his actual representative?" he continued perfunctorily.

"I am George Król,: I replied somewhat superciliously, "his lab assistant. This is Tim Miskey, one of his genetics students."

"Very well," Chrome approved. "Perhaps later you could tell us about your progress on potato mitochondrial DNA."

"I will be very glad to discuss it with you after the seminar," I replied without flinching.

Chrome smiled as he realized he failed to shake my confidence.
"By all means," he perorated.