my colleagues, the Telly camera crews, to
keep you on lens when you're looking good, and, more important still,
off it when you're not. We're going to have to spend every credit
you've got."

"I see," Joe said. "And when it's all been accomplished, what do you
get out of this, Freddy?"

Freddy Soligen laid it on the line. "When it's all been accomplished,
you'll be an Upper. I'm ambitious, too, Joe. Just as ambitious as you
are. I need an _In_. You'll be it. I'll make you. I have the know-how.
I can do it. When you're made, you'll make me."

II

When Major Mauser, escorting Dr. Nadine Haer, daughter of the late
Baron Haer of Vacuum Tube Transport, entered the swank Exclusive Room
of the Greater Washington branch of the Ultra Hotels, the orchestra
ceased the dreamy dance music it had been playing and struck up the
lilting "The Girl I Left Behind Me."

As they followed the maitre d'hotel to their table, Nadine frowned in
puzzled memory and after they were seated, she said, "That piece,
where have I heard it before?"

Joe cleared his throat uncomfortably. "An old marching song, come down
from way back. Popular during the Civil War. The seventh Cavalry rode
forth to that tune on the way to their rendezvous with the Sioux at
the Little Big Horn."

She frowned at him, puzzled still, "You seem to know an inordinate
amount about a simple tune, Joe." Then she said, "Why, now I remember
where I've heard it recently. Wednesday, when I was waiting for you at
the Agora Bar. The band played it when you entered."

[Illustration]

He picked up the menu, hurriedly. The Exclusive Room was ostentatious
to the point of menus and waiters. "What'll you have, Nadine?" He
still wasn't quite at ease with her first name. Offhand, he could
never remember having been on a first name basis with a Mid-Upper,
certainly not one of the female gender.

But she was not to be put off. "Why, Joe Mauser, you've acquired a
theme song, or whatever you call it. I didn't know you were that well
known amount the nit-wits who follow the fracases. Why next they'll be
forming those ridiculous buff-clubs." Her laughter tinkled. "The Major
Joe Mauser Club."

Joe flushed. "As a matter of fact, there are three," he said
unhappily. "One in Mexico City, one in Bogota and one in Portland.
I've forgotten if it's Oregon or Maine."

She was puzzled still, and ignored the waiter who, standing there,
made Joe nervous. Establishments which boasted live waite