ld happen--a nation of psychotics!"

"The fellow who didn't hear the 'miscast' would be top dog, eh,
Pettigill? He could call his shots."

* * * * *

Pettigill twirled the watch chain faster between a forefinger and thumb.
"No, he'd gain nothing," he said, staring as though hypnotized by the
whirling, gold chain. "It would take more than one _sane_ person to
control the derelict population. Perhaps--perhaps two," he mumbled.
"Yes, I think perhaps two could."

"You and who else, Pettigill?"

Pettigill stepped back and drew himself erect. "What? You actually
entertain the idea th--" He laughed dryly. "Oh, you're pulling my leg,
eh, Mr. Bartle."

"I suppose I am."

"Well, such a remark gives one a jolt, if you know what I mean. Even
though we are speaking of a hypothetical occurrence, we must be cautious
about such talk, Mr. Bartle. Although our government is a benevolent
organization, it _is_ ill-disposed toward such ideas." He cleared his
throat. "Now, is there anything else I can tell you about the Center?"

Bartle arose from the chair, stuffing the scrap paper and unused pencil
back in his pocket. "Thanks, no," he said, "I think this'll cover it. Oh
yes, the article will appear in this Sunday's edition. Thanks,
Pettigill, for giving me your time."

"Oh, I wish to thank you, Mr. Bartle. Being featured in a _Bulletin_
article is the ultimate to a man such as I--a man whose only wishes are
to serve his country and his brothers."

"I'm sure you're doing both with great efficiency," Bartle said as he
apathetically shook Pettigill's hand and started toward the door.

"A moment, Mr. Bartle--" the little man called.

Bartle stopped and turned.

"I perceive, Mr. Bartle, you are a man of exceptional ability,"
Pettigill said and cleared his throat. "It seems a shame to waste such
talent; it should be directed toward some definite goal. Do you
understand what I mean? After all, we're all brothers, you know. It
would be for my benefit as well as yours."

"Sure, sure, 'brother'," Bartle snorted and left.

He started for the paper office but decided to let the story go until
morning. What the hell, he had a stock format for all such articles. The
people were the same: selfless, heroic type, citizens working for the
mutual good of all. Only the names were different. And yet, this
Pettigill had disturbed him. Perhaps it was something he had said that
Bartle could not remember.