rcing across a gap of mutual dislike.

Greer, exhibiting perfect dentures, exhaled Listerine. His pink skin
looked not only scrubbed but disinfected; his gold-rimmed glasses
belonged in an optometrist's window, and his tropical suit had
obviously come straight from the cleaner's. It was impossible to think
of Greer unshaven, Greer smoking a cigar, Greer with a smudge of axle
grease on his forehead, or Greer making love to his wife.

"Well, sir, this weather--"

"When I think of what this valley was like twenty years ago--"

"At today's prices--"

Len listened with growing admiration, putting in comments where
required. He had never realized before that there were so many
absolutely neutral topics of conversation.

A few more people straggled in, raising the room temperature about
half a degree per capita. Greer did not perspire; he merely glowed.

* * * * *

Across the room, Moira was now seated chummily with Mrs. Greer, a
large-bosomed woman in an outrageously unfashionable hat. Moira
appeared to be telling a joke; Len knew perfectly well that it was a
clean one, but he listened tensely, all the same, until he heard Mrs.
Greer yelp with laughter. Her voice carried well: "Oh, that's
_priceless_! Oh, dear, I _only_ hope I can remember it!"

Len had resolutely not been thinking of ways to turn the conversation
toward the Oster vacancy. He stiffened again when he realized that
Greer had abruptly begun to talk shop. His heart began pounding
absurdly; Greer was asking highly pertinent questions in a
good-humored but businesslike way--drawing Len out, and not even
bothering to be the slightest bit Machiavellian about it.

Len answered candidly, except when he was certain that he knew what
the Superintendent wanted to hear; then he lied like a Trojan.

Mrs. Greer had conjured up a premature pot of tea and, oblivious of
the stares of the thirsty teachers present, she and Moira were hogging
it, heads together, as if they were plotting the overthrow of the
Republic or exchanging recipes.

Greer listened attentively to Len's final reply, which was delivered
with as pious an air as if Len had been a Boy Scout swearing on the
Manual. But since the question had been "Do you plan to make teaching
your career?" there was not a word of truth in it.

He then inspected his paunch and assumed a mild theatrical frown. Len,
with that social sixth sense which is unmistakable when it operates,
kne