to you for an interview."

"I want," Vogel said into the phone, "three bench men. By noon. _With_
shop experience."

Personnel was sorry. Vogel snarled and hung up.

"Hello, please, sir," said a voice.

Vogel stared, icily.

Meekness cowered in front of his desk. Meekness in the form of a small
birdlike person with beseeching amber eyes.

"I am Amenth," he said, cringing.

Vogel eyed the olive skin, the cheekbones, the blue-black hair. "A
wetback," he said. "Three men short and they send me wetbacks. You
know sheet metal, buster?"

"I am not of the understanding," Amenth offered. "Experience, no." He
beamed. "Aptitude, yes."

Fighting apoplexy, Vogel took him out into the shop. Amenth cringed at
the howl of air tools and punch presses. Vogel contemptuously took him
by the arm and led him to a workbench where a wizened persimmon of a
man performed deft lightnings with rivets and air wrench.

"Benny, this is Amenth. He's new." Vogel pronounced it like a curse.
"Get him some goggles from the crib, a rivet gun."

Vogel returned to his office scowling. The phone rang almost
instantly.

"Boss," said Benny, "he's from nothing--all thumbs with an air wrench
and he don't know alclad from stainless."

"Be right out," Vogel said, hanging up.

Before he had a chance to fire Amenth, the Fabrication Super came in
with a production problem. Vogel solved it, but it was almost an hour
before he returned to Benny's bench--and stared.

Amenth was a blur of motion. His Keller chattered like a live thing.

A furious sweating Benny snapped at Vogel, "You playing practical
jokes? Look, this guy's gone crazy, he's fifty per cent under
standard! Tell him to slow down before I file a grievance."

Amenth beamed. "I am of the aptitude," he said.

A queer deep tingle went through Vogel. The crystal delight of
challenge he felt when confronted by an apparently impregnable
fianchetto.

That was the first day.

* * * * *

A week later, Vogel was compiling a progress report from completed
shop travelers. Abruptly he scowled at one traveler, then said,
"Charlie!"

"Yes, sir," one of the planners said.

"Why didn't these galley panels go out for drop hammer?"

Charlie peered at the form and whistled. "Somebody must have changed
the planning sheet."

"Get me the story!"

Charlie went hurriedly out into the shop.

Some time later he returned with a pale dazed look. "It's this guy in
assem