Bread Overhead | Page 2

metropolis of
NewNew York, a tender scene was being enacted in the pressurized
penthouse managerial suite of Puffy Products. Megera Winterly,
Secretary in Chief to the Managerial Board and referred to by her
underlings as the Blonde Icicle, was dealing with the advances of
Roger ("Racehorse") Snedden, Assistant Secretary to the Board and
often indistinguishable from any passing office boy.
"Why don't you jump out the window, Roger, remembering to shut the
airlock after you?" the Golden Glacier said in tones not unkind. "When
are your high-strung, thoroughbred nerves going to accept the fact that
I would never consider marriage with a business inferior? You have
about as much chance as a starving Ukrainian kulak now that Moscow's
clapped on the interdict."
* * * * *
Roger's voice was calm, although his eyes were feverishly bright, as he
replied, "A lot of things are going to be different around here, Meg, as
soon as the Board is forced to admit that only my quick thinking made
it possible to bring the name of Puffyloaf in front of the whole world."
"Puffyloaf could do with a little of that," the business girl observed
judiciously. "The way sales have been plummeting, it won't be long
before the Government deeds our desks to the managers of Fairy Bread
and asks us to take the Big Jump. But just where does your quick
thinking come into this, Mr. Snedden? You can't be referring to the

helium--that was Rose Thinker's brainwave."
She studied him suspiciously. "You've birthed another promotional
bumble, Roger. I can see it in your eyes. I only hope it's not as big a
one as when you put the Martian ambassador on 3D and he thanked
you profusely for the gross of Puffyloaves, assuring you that he'd never
slept on a softer mattress in all his life on two planets."
"Listen to me, Meg. Today--yes, today!--you're going to see the Board
eating out of my hand."
"Hah! I guarantee you won't have any fingers left. You're bold enough
now, but when Mr. Gryce and those two big machines come through
that door--"
"Now wait a minute, Meg--"
"Hush! They're coming now!"
Roger leaped three feet in the air, but managed to land without a sound
and edged toward his stool. Through the dilating iris of the door strode
Phineas T. Gryce, flanked by Rose Thinker and Tin Philosopher.
The man approached the conference table in the center of the room
with measured pace and gravely expressionless face. The rose-tinted
machine on his left did a couple of impulsive pirouettes on the way and
twittered a greeting to Meg and Roger. The other machine quietly took
the third of the high seats and lifted a claw at Meg, who now occupied
a stool twice the height of Roger's.
"Miss Winterly, please--our theme."
The Blonde Icicle's face thawed into a little-girl smile as she chanted
bubblingly:
"Made up of tiny wheaten motes And reinforced with sturdy oats, It
rises through the air and floats-- The bread on which all Terra dotes!"
* * * * *

"Thank you, Miss Winterly," said Tin Philosopher. "Though a purely
figurative statement, that bit about rising through the air always gets
me--here." He rapped his midsection, which gave off a high musical
clang.
"Ladies--" he inclined his photocells toward Rose Thinker and
Meg--"and gentlemen. This is a historic occasion in Old Puffy's long
history, the inauguration of the helium-filled loaf ('So Light It Almost
Floats Away!') in which that inert and heaven-aspiring gas replaces
old-fashioned carbon dioxide. Later, there will be kudos for Rose
Thinker, whose bright relays genius-sparked the idea, and also for
Roger Snedden, who took care of the details.
"By the by, Racehorse, that was a brilliant piece of work getting the
helium out of the government--they've been pretty stuffy lately about
their monopoly. But first I want to throw wide the casement in your
minds that opens on the Long View of Things."
Rose Thinker spun twice on her chair and opened her photocells wide.
Tin Philosopher coughed to limber up the diaphragm of his speaker and
continued:
"Ever since the first cave wife boasted to her next-den neighbor about
the superior paleness and fluffiness of her tortillas, mankind has sought
lighter, whiter bread. Indeed, thinkers wiser than myself have equated
the whole upward course of culture with this poignant quest. Yeast was
a wonderful discovery--for its primitive day. Sifting the bran and wheat
germ from the flour was an even more important advance. Early
bleaching and preserving chemicals played their humble parts.
"For a while, barbarous faddists--blind to the deeply spiritual nature of
bread, which is recognized by all great religions--held back our march
toward perfection with their hair-splitting insistence on the vitamin
content of the wheat germ, but their case collapsed when tasteless