vading the draft. Shows a lack of moral courage. By
rights I ought to be a conchie, but that would just about kill the Old
Lady. She's in a firstclass uproar as it is--like to see me in the
frontlines right now, bursting with dulce et decorum. I don't believe it
would bother the Old Man any if I sat out the duration in a C O camp,
but it'd hurt his job like hell and the poor old boy is straining his
guts to get into the trenches and twirl a theoretical saber. So I guess
I'm slated to be your humble and obedient, Mr Weener."

"I'll be delighted to have you join our firm," I said wryly, for I felt
he would be a completely useless appendage. In this I am glad to say I
did him an injustice, for though he never denied his essential lack of
interest in concentrates and the whole process of moneymaking, he proved
nevertheless--at such times as he chose to attend to his duties--a
faithful and conscientious employee, his only faults being lack of
initiative and a tendency to pamper the workers in the plant.

But I have anticipated; at the moment I looked upon him only as a
liability to be balanced in good time by the asset of his father's
position. It was therefore with irritation I listened to his insistence
on my coming to the Thario home that afternoon to meet his mother and
sisters. I had no desire for purely social intercourse, last evening's
outing being in the nature of a business investment and it seemed
superfluous to be forced to extend courtesies to an entire family
because of involvement with one member.

However great my reluctance I felt I couldnt afford to risk giving
offense and so at fouroclock promptly I was in Georgetown, using the
knocker of a door looking like all the other doors on both sides of the
street.

"I'm Winifred Thario and youre the chewinggum man--no, wait a minute,
I'll get it--the food concentrate man who's going to make Joe essential
to the war effort. Do come in, and excuse my rudeness. I'm the youngest,
you know, except for Joe, so everybody excuses me." Her straight, blond
hair looked dead. The vivacity which lit her windburned face seemed a
false vivacity and when she showed her large white teeth I thought it
was with a calculated effort.

She led me into a livingroom peopled like an Earlyvictorian
conversationpiece. Behind a low table, in a rockingchair, sat a large,
fullbosomed woman with the same dead hair and weatherbeaten cheeks, the
only difference being that the blondness of he