a hand that was
as limp as wet cloth. Brennan started for the door. The arm lifted until
the link was taut; then, with slow, dragging steps, James Quincy Holden
started toward home.

Brennan said, "You understand me, don't you, Jimmy?"

"You want my father's machine."

"Only to help you, Jimmy. Can't you believe that?"

"No."

Brennan drove his car with ease. A soft smile lurked around his lips. He
went on, "You know what your father's machine will do for you, don't you,
Jimmy?"

"Yes."

"But have you ever attended school?"

"No." But Jimmy remembered the long hours and hours of study and practice
before he became proficient with his typewriter. For a moment he felt
close to tears. It had been the only possession he truly owned, now it
was gone. And with it was gone the author's first check. The thrill of
that first check is far greater than Graduation or the First Job. It is
approximately equal to the flush of pride that comes when the author's
story hits print with his NAME appended.

But Jimmy's typewriter was gone, and his check was gone. Without a doubt
the check would turn up cashed--through the operations of Jake Caslow.

Brennan's voice cut into his thoughts. "You will attend school, Jimmy.
You'll have to."

"But--"

"Oh, now look, Jimmy. There are laws that say you must attend school.
The only way those laws can be avoided is to make an appeal to the law
itself, and have your legal guardian--myself--ask for the privilege of
tutoring you at home. Well, I won't do it."

He drove for a moment, thinking. "So you're going to attend school," he
said, "and while you're there you're going to be careful not to disclose
by any act or inference that you already know everything they can teach
you. Otherwise they will ask some embarrassing questions. And the first
thing that happens to you is that you will be put in a much harder place
to escape from than our home, Jimmy. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," the boy said sickly.

"But," purred Uncle Paul Brennan, "you may find school very boring. If
so, you have only to say the word--rebuild your father's machine--and go
on with your career."

"I w--" Jimmy began automatically, but his uncle stopped him.

"You won't, no," he agreed. "Not now. In the meantime, then, you will
live the life proper to your station--and your age. I won't deny you a
single thing, Jimmy. Not a single thing that a five-year-old can want."

CHAPTER SIX

Paul Brennan mov