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States. (Laughter.)
    The story from London was matter-of-fact. England expectedthat the United States would share A.I., on a population basis, and in return England would give the United States the full benefit of any happy information reaching its own scientists. The British government felt it was speaking for the whole Empire. It didn’t say anything about Ireland.
    In Paris, all the newspapers published editorials pointing out France’s great past cultural contributions to the world, and insisting that it was a necessity that French culture continue.
    Various good Germans talked of the benefits of a revival of German industrial genius in succeeding generations.
    The Japanese press talked of traditional American sportsmanship, and pointed out that baseball was played in both countries.
    All the little nations extolled their own virtues. But the Bucharest press pointed out, coyly, that if A.I. was denied to Hungary, then that would be a final solution to the question of Transylvania—which everybody thought had already been solved.
    The cables kept rolling in, but before night J.C. Pogey came over to my desk, and motioned me into his office.
    â€œSteve,” he said, “I just got a call from the White House. Danny Williams—the President’s Secretary. Used to work for us. Well, they want you down there to handle Adam.”
    â€œThat’s what I was afraid of,” I said.
    â€œIt seems they think you did a good job in Tarrytown. Adam likes you.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œThe N.R.P. asked for you. They’re going to put you on their payroll. We’ll give you leave of absence.”
    â€œHaven’t I got anything to say about this?” I demanded.
    â€œNot much,” said J.C. “Danny Williams put it this way—he said it was in the interests of civilization. I don’t like to lose you, but it is exactly the same as if you were drafted.”
    â€œYou don’t care much, do you, J.C., whether civilization keeps on or not?”
    J.C. rubbed his thumbs behind his ears. “Dunno,” he said. “Haven’t made up my mind yet.”
    I went home and packed. “They certainly called for you in a hurry,” Marge said.
    â€œYes,” I agreed, not wanting to leave her, and not wanting to leave Smith Field, and wondering how long it would be before Homer Adam could be cooled off and calmed to a point where he would become useful to civilization, and N.R.P. would let me go.
    â€œYou behave down there,” Marge commanded. “That town is full of good-looking women, and they don’t seem to have any inhibitions any more.”
    â€œI’ll behave,” I promised.
    â€œYou’d better. I’m liable to pop in on you any time—any time at all. And Stephen,” she added, “do a good job, will you. It’s awfully important to me.”
    I telephoned to Abel Pumphrey, the Director of the National Re-fertilization Project, that I was on the way down. Marge took me to the train and kissed me goodbye as if I were off to Shanghai. The last thing she said was, “You will do your best, won’t you?”
    Women are such queer people.

CHAPTER 5
    I didn’t have any illusions about my chore. I knew that at the very best it would be thankless, and probably a perpetual headache, and something which called for a psychiatrist rather than a newspaperman. But I felt a sort of moral responsibility for Mr. Adam. I had been the first to launch him into his career as the last productive male, and it seemed only right that I should help guide his footsteps towards whatever strange destiny awaited him. In addition, I was just plain curious.
    I underestimated Washington. I didn’t foresee any of the really frightening events that presently engulfed me. When I look back at it now, I was a toddling child who picks a river in flood as a nice place for wading, and instantly is seized by the current and swept downstream.
    For