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had bookcases filled with
every book that had ever been written about dinosaurs, and some of them had been written by Gregor Keretsky himself.
    "I'm fine"—her hero grinned—"and I've been looking for you. I knew my little paleontologist friend would be here, because it is Saturday. And I need your help once again, Caroline."
    Caroline sighed. Poor Mr. Keretsky. He had this problem that she helped him with from time to time.
    "Neckties?" she asked.
    He nodded, embarrassed. "Tomorrow I fly to London. There is a conference there on Monday morning."
    "Let's take a look," said Caroline, and she followed him to his office.
    He closed the door, because this was a very private consultation. Then he took a bag marked "Brooks Brothers" out of a desk drawer. He took three neckties out of the bag and laid them on the top of the desk.
    "What do you think?" he asked helplessly.
    Poor Mr. Keretsky was colorblind. No one knew, not even his secretary. And he had no wife. Caroline was the only person in the world to whom he had confided his secret problem since 1946. In 1946, when he had left Europe and come to live in the United States, the Department of Motor Vehicles had refused him a driver's license because he couldn't tell a red light from a green.
    His suits were all gray, and his shirts were all white. So those were not a problem. But neckties, he said, made him crazy. He desperately needed help with neckties.
    "These two," said Caroline decisively after looking them over. "Keep these two. But take this one back." She wrinkled her nose and handed him the third tie. "It's purple and brown. Really ugly, Mr. Keretsky. Very severely ugly."
    "Are you sure?" he asked sadly. "I do like the pattern on this one. It has a—what would you say?—a pleasant geometric order to it."
    "Nope," said Caroline firmly. "Take it back."
    "The woman at the store said that it was very, very attractive," Mr. Keretsky pointed out.
    "What did it cost?"
    He turned it over and looked at the price tag. "$22.50," he said.
    Caroline groaned. "No
wonder
she said it was very, very attractive. She conned you, Mr. Keretsky. She sold you the ugliest necktie in New York City, for a ridiculously high price. Don't trust her again, under any circumstances."
    "All right," he said, sighing, and put the tie back into the bag. "But the others, they are not ugly? You are certain?"
    "The others are fine. The striped one's gray and dark green, with a little yellow. And the paisley's some nice shades of blue. They'll look nice on you."
    "Caroline," said Gregor Keretsky, "you have once again preserved my dignity. Come to the cafeteria with me and I will buy you a big ice cream."
    Caroline fingered her notebook. She really didn't want to miss a chance to talk to one of the world's most famous vertebrate paleontologists. But she had planned to work on a drawing of Tyrannosaurus Rex to keep in her file on Frederick Fiske.
    She compromised. "Okay," she said. "I'll go to the cafeteria. But would you do me a favor? Would you tell me everything you know about Tyrannosaurus Rex?"
    Gregor Keretsky began to laugh. "Caroline," he said, "that would take me days, I think!"
    She laughed, too. She knew he was right. "Well," she said, "tell me a
little
about him, then, over some ice cream."
    "By the way," she whispered, as they waited for the elevator. "I wouldn't wear those cuff links to London if I were you."
    "These?" Mr. Keretsky held up one wrist. "Why not? These I just bought. There is something wrong with them?"
    "Mr. Keretsky," Caroline said as tactfully as she could, "they're
pink.
"

    "So, Caroline, what would you like to know about old Tyrannosaurus Rex?" asked Gregor Keretsky, as he
put sugar into his coffee. "And why? I think by now, from all the reading you do, that you must know a very great deal already."
    Caroline smoothed the top of her ice cream with her spoon. "I'm just doing some general research," she said. "Maybe I'll write a report for school, for science