den's limited experience some little time to identify
the event with some similar scenes from books he'd read; even with him,
reading about it was one world and seeing it happen was another thing
entirely.

For James Holden it opened a new area for contemplation. He would have to
know something about this matter if he hoped to achieve his dreamed-of
status as an adult.

* * * * *

Information about the relation between man and woman had not been
included in the course of education devised by his father and mother.
Therefore his physical age and his information on the delicate subject
were approximately parallel.

His personal evaluation of the subject was uncomplicated. At some age not
much greater than his own, boys and girls conglomerated in a mass that
milled around in a constant state of flux and motion, like individual
atoms of gas compressed in a container. Meetings and encounters took
place both singly and in groups until nearly everybody had been in touch
with almost everybody else. Slowly the amorphous mass changed. Groups
became attracted by mutual interests. Changes and exchanges took place,
and then a pair-formation began to take place. The pair-formation went
through its interchanges both with and without friction as the
settling-down process proceeded. At times predictable by comparing it
to the statistics of radioactivity, the pair-production resulted in
permanent combination, which effectively removed this couple from free
circulation.

James Holden had no grasp or feeling for the great catalyst that causes
this pair-production; he saw it only for its sheer mechanics. To him, the
sensible way to go about this matter was to get there early and move
fast, because one stands to make a better choice when there is a greater
number of unattached specimens from which to choose. Those left over are
likely to have flaws.

And so he pondered, long after Martha had gone to bed.

He was still up and waiting when he heard the car stop at the gate.
He watched them come up the walk arm in arm, their stride slow and
lingering. They paused for several moments on the doorstep, once there
was a short, muted laugh. The snick of the key came next and they came
into the hallway.

"No, please don't come in," said Mrs. Bagley.

"But--" replied the man.

"But me no buts. It's late, Tim."

Tim? Tim? That would probably be Timothy Fisher. He ran the local garage
where Mrs. Bagley bough