"No, you're probably right."

* * * * *

For a moment Allenby was silent as they went toward the gate of the
Quad. Then he said, "John, you're a good man. I don't want you to
despair. What we're attempting--to bring education back into our
culture--is a good and noble cause. And you can't really blame the
kids." He nodded up at the walls. "They've just had too many Spellcasts,
too many scares in the Pretend War--they can't believe in any future and
they don't know anything about their past. Don't blame them."

"No, sir--I don't."

"Just do our best," Allenby said. "Try to teach them the forgotten
things. Then, in their turn, in the next generation...."

"Yes, we have to believe that. But, Dr. Allenby, we could go a lot
faster if we were to screen them. If they were all like young Tomkins,
we'd be doing very well. But as long as we have people like young Cress
or Hodge or Rottke--well, it's hard to do anything with them. They go
straight from school into their fathers' firms--after all, if you're
guaranteed a business success in life, you don't struggle to learn. And,
anyway, you don't need much education to be a dope salesman or a numbers
consultant."

"I'd like to have the place run only for the deserving and the
interested," Allenby said. "But we haven't much choice. We must have
some of these boys who are from the best families. More protective
coloration--like McCarthy. If we were only to run the place for the
brilliant ones, you know we'd be closed down in a week."

"I suppose so," Ward agreed. He wondered whether he should tell his
suspicions to Allenby. Better not, he decided. Allenby had enough to
think about.

The last of the shouting had died. As Ward went out the gate of the
Quad, he felt his heart lift a little the way it always did when he
started for home. Out here, miles from the city, the air was clean and
the Sun was bright on the hills, quilted now with the colors of autumn.
There was a tang of wood smoke in the air and, in the leaves beside the
path, he saw an apple. It was very cold and damp and there was a wild
taste to it as he bit into the fruit. He was a tired teacher, glad to be
going home after a hard day in the school. He hoped that no one had been
hurt by the tigers.

* * * * *

John Ward pushed the papers across his desk, reached for his pipe and
sighed. "Well, that does it, Bobby," he said.

He looked at the red