uld not leave his mind. Sam Atkins did not
say things that had no meaning.

* * * * *

Baker's return to the office of NBSD was an occasion for outpouring of
the professional affection which his staff had always tendered him. He
knew that there had been a time when this had given him a great deal of
satisfaction. He remembered that fiftieth birthday party.

Looking back, it seemed as if all that must have happened to some other
man. He felt like a double of himself, taking over positions and
prerogatives in which he was a complete impostor.

This was going to be harder than he had anticipated, he thought.

Pehrson especially, it appeared, was going to be difficult. The
administrative assistant came into the office almost as soon as Baker
was seated at his desk. "It's very good to have you back," said Pehrson.
"I think we've managed to keep things running while you've been gone,
however. We have rejected approximately one hundred applications during
the past week."

Baker grunted. "And how many have you approved?"

"Approval would have had to await your signature, of course."

"O.K., how many are awaiting my signature?"

"It has been impossible to find a single one which had a high enough
Index to warrant your consideration."

"I see," said Baker. "So you've taken care of the usual routine without
any help from me?"

"Yes," said Pehrson.

"There's one grant left over from before I was absent. We must get that
out of the way as quickly as possible."

"I don't recall any that were pending--" said Pehrson in apology.

"Clearwater College. Get me the file, will you?"

Pehrson didn't know for sure whether the chief was joking or not. He
looked completely serious. Pehrson felt sick at the sudden thought that
the accident may have so injured the chief's mind that he was actually
serious.

He sparred. "The Clearwater College file?"

"That's what I said. Bring a set of approval forms, too."

Pehrson managed to get out with a placid mask on his face, but it broke
as soon as he reached the safety of his own office. It wasn't possible
that Baker was serious! The check that went out that afternoon convinced
him it was so.

When Pehrson left the office, Baker got up and sauntered to the window,
looking out over the smoke-gray buildings of Washington. The Index, he
smiled, remembering it. Five years he and Pehrson had worked on that. It
had seemed like quite a monumental achievemen