gardener of rare ability. She often told "Old Simons," her husband, "Look at the pansy, fool, the pansy; two new blossoms already. You can't say I haven't a green thumb." When Mrs. Simons found that fawning, verbal attack, and bribery, couldn't separate Al Taggert from his plant, she assigned him to the third floor front, the most cheerless, coldest room in the house. The steam radiator was in none too good condition. Installed many years ago by the house's last Victorian owner it was given to knocks, leaks, and can-tankerousness. In December it developed a slow drip, and drops of hot water would fall to seep slowly into the floor. Steam was constantly escaping from a bad valve that Mrs. Simons would have repaired if it had blown off completely. But because the radiator always managed to be hot, she never did. It was on this radiator that Al set the plant, and within a matter of hours it had enswathed the radiator like a green shroud. Because Mrs. Simons feared drafts, the windows were rarely opened in the winter, and the room was oppressively hot. It probably would have been all right if spring had never come because Mrs. Simons turned the radiators off one day early in March. After a few warm hours it grew cold again with the darkness, and by night it was back in the chill of February. But Mrs. Simons had stingily turned the heat off and decided not to turn it on again until the next morning. Al was found dead in bed the next morning. Mrs. Simons knocked on his door when he failed to come down to breakfast, and when he didn't answer, she turned the knob and went in. Al had smothered in his sleep. There was quite a to-do about the whole business, but nothing came of it. A few stupid detectives blundered around the room asking silly questions, and then left the matter to the coroner and the morgue. Al was nobody; he had no enemies and no friends except third-floor-rear Bess. No one cared if he lived or died. He had probably smothered accidentally in the blankets. No one noticed that the body was unusually cold, and the green smudge on the top sheet was discounted probably some grease he had been using for some imagined skin trouble. Mrs. Simons quickly claimed the plant for her own, and When she found it was too fastened to the radiator to move, she left "Old Simons" in their bedroom and moved to third floor front herself. The weather remained cold for the next ten days, and the heat was kept in the pipes. During this time Mrs. Simons was heard to exclaim to one and all, "Look how my plant is growing. I surely have a green thumb when it comes to growing plants." A The next time a warm day came, Mrs. Simons left the radiators on because she was not going to be fooled twice. When the weather stayed warm, the rooms became insufferably hot. She turned the heat off the afternoon of the second day. It was tropic in the rooms. Then the March weather turned again. Mrs. Simons didn't turn the heat back on. "Let them complain if they want to," she thought as she lit a cigar-et and settled back in bed to mull over the problems of the day particularly the growing independence she was noticing in "Old Simons." She stared at the ceiling blowing smoke upwards into the darkened room, and tried to see its outlines in the dim light coming from the street. When she finished one cigaret, she let her hand dangle out of the side of the bed, then picked up another cigaret from the pack. She lit it from the butt in her mouth and dropped the butt into the ashtray on the floor. The plant on the radiator was getting cold. Only Mrs. Simons radiated heat. Mrs. Simons thought she heard something flapping in the room; things were always creaking in the old house. She heard a swishing noise and ascribed it to the mice. Mrs. Simons reached down to crush the last of the cigaret butt against the tray. She pressed the butt into something wet like a used handkerchief. There was a sudden hiss; something coiled and wrapped about her wrist. Mrs. Simons gasped and drew her hand back fast. A green horror, twisting and writhing, was curled about it. Before Mrs. Simons could scream, the plant whipped itself from her hand and fastened over her face, over the warm, heat-radiating skin. "Old Simons" found her in the morning with two of the large leaves, one slightly scorched, still over her face. After the furor died down, and within the month, "Old Simons" had sold the house, married Bess third floor rear, and moved to California. Before he left, trying to be kind, he trimmed the plant down to a smaller size and gave to it a bedfast maiden aunt who lived alone in a cold attic flat. DAWN Sherry Boedecker Pastel Pink Slides over purple rocks And melts cool valley green. 5