robably permanent. But the thought patterns originating within the mind
itself, the processes that correlate and cross-index and speculate on
and hypothesize about the sensory data, these are much more fragile. A
man might glance once through a Latin primer and have each and every
page imprinted indelibly on his recording mechanism and still be unable
to make sense out of _Nauta in cubitu cum puella est_.

Sometimes a man is aware of the holes in his memory. ("What _was_ the
name of that fellow I met at Eddie's party? Can't remember it for the
life of me.") At other times, a memory may lay dormant and completely
unremembered, leaving no apparent gap, until a tag of some kind brings
it up. ("That girl with the long hair reminds me of Suzie Blugerhugle.
My gosh! I haven't thought of her in years!") Both factors seemed to be
operating in Bart Stanton's mind at this time.

Incredibly, he had never, in the past year at least, had occasion to try
to remember much about his past life. He had known who he was without
thinking about it particularly, and the rest of his knowledge--language,
history, social behavior, politics, geography, and so on--had been
readily available for the most part. Ask an educated man to give the
product of the primes 2, 13, and 41, or ask him to give the date of the
Norman Conquest, and he can give you the answers very quickly. He may
have to calculate the first, which will make him pause for a second
before answering, but the second will come straight out of his memory
records. In neither case does he have to think of where he learned the
process or the fact, or who taught it to him, or when he got the
information.

But now the picture and the name in the paper had brought forth a
reaction in Stanton's mind, and he was trying desperately to bring the
information out of oblivion.

Did he have a mother? Surely. But could he remember her? _Yes!_
Certainly. A pretty, gentle, rather sad woman. He could remember when
she died, although he couldn't remember ever having actually attended
the funeral.

What about his father?

Try as he might, he could find no memory whatever of his father, and, at
first, that bothered him. He could remember his mother--could almost see
her moving around in the apartment where they had lived in ... in ... in
Denver! Sure! And he could remember the big building itself, and the
block, and even Mrs. Frobisher, who lived upstairs! And the school! And
the play area! A great