ty subdued.

The small, green space-fitness cards were arriving at Jarviston
addresses in the morning.

Near the end of the noon hour, Two-and-Two Baines was waving his around
the Tech campus, having gone home to look, as of course everybody else
who could, had also done. "Cripes!--Hi-di-ho--here it is!" he was
yelling at the frosty sky, when Frank came with his own ticket.

The Kuzaks had theirs, and were calm about it. Eileen Sands' card was
tucked neatly into her sweater pocket, as she joined those who were
waiting for the others on the front steps of Tech's Carver Hall.

Ramos had to make a noise. "See what Santa brought the lady! But he
didn't forget your Uncle Miguel, either--see! We're in, kid--be happy.
Yippee!"

He tried to whirl her in some crazy dance, but Gimp was swinging along
the slushy walk on his crutches. His grin was a mile wide. Mitch Storey
was with him, looking almost as pleased.

"Guess legs don't count, Out There," Gimp was saying. "Or patched
tickers, either, as long as they work good! I kind of figured on it...
Hey--I don't want to ride anybody's shoulders, Ramos--cut it out...! We
won't know about Charlie and Jig till tonight, when they come to Paul's
from their jobs. But I don't think that there's any sweat for them,
either... Only--where's Tif? He should be back by now from where he
lives with his father..."

Tiflin didn't show up at Hendricks' at all that evening, or at his
garage job either. Ramos phoned from the garage to confirm that.

"And he's not at home," Ramos added. "The boss sent me to check. His Old
Man says he doesn't know where Tif is and cares less."

"Just leave Tif be," Mitch Storey said softly.

"Maybe that's best, at that," old Paul growled. "Only I hope the darned
idiot doesn't cook himself up another jam..."

They all knew then, for sure, what had happened. Right now, Glen Tiflin
was wandering alone, somewhere, cursing and suffering. As likely as not,
he'd start hitchhiking across the country, to try to get away from
himself... Somewhere the test instruments--which had seemed so
lenient--had tripped him up, spotting the weakness that he had tried to
fight. Temper, nerves--emotional instability. So there was no green card
for Tif, to whom space was a kind of Nirvana...

The Bunch worked on with their preparations. Things got done all right,
but the fine edge of enthusiasm had dulled. Jig Hollins flung his usual
remarks, with their derisive undertone, around