THE FOURTH "R"

 By George O. Smith

Published byDELL PUBLISHING CO. , INC. 1 Dag Hammarskjold PlazaNew York, New York 10017

Copyright 1959, by George O. SmithAll rights reserved. For information contact:Dell Publishing Co. , Inc. 

Printed in the United States of America. 

First Dell printing--April 1979

[Transcribers note: This is a rule 6 clearance. A copyright renewal hasnot been found. ]

BOOK ONE:

FUTURE IMPROMPTU

CHAPTER ONE

James Quincy Holden was five years old. 

His fifth birthday was not celebrated by the usual horde of noisy, hungrykids running wild in the afternoon. It started at seven, with cocktails. They were served by his host, Paul Brennan, to the celebrants, the boy'sfather and mother. The guest of honor sipped ginger ale and nibbled atcanapés while he was presented with his gifts: A volume of Kipling's_Jungle Tales_, a Spitz Junior Planetarium, and a build-it-yourself kitcontaining parts for a geiger counter and an assortment of radioactiveminerals to identify. Dinner was served at eight, the menu selected byJimmy Holden--with the exception of the birthday cake and its five proudlittle candles which came as an anticipated surprise from his "Uncle"Paul Brennan. 

After dinner, they listened to some music chosen by the boy, and theevening wound up with three rubbers of bridge. The boy won. 

They left Paul Brennan's apartment just after eleven o'clock. JimmyHolden was tired and pleasantly stuffed with good food. But he wasstimulated by the party. So, instead of dropping off to sleep, he satcomfortably wedged between his father and mother, quietly lost in his ownthoughts until the car was well out of town. 

Then he said, "Dad, why did you make that sacrifice bid on the lasthand?" Father and son had been partners. 

"You're not concerned about losing the rubber, are you?" It had been theonly rubber Jimmy lost. 

"No. It's only a game, " said Jimmy. "I'm just trying to understand. "

His father gave an amused groan. "It has to do with the laws ofprobability and the theory of games, " he said. 

The boy shook his head. "Bridge, " he said thoughtfully, "consists ofcreating a logical process of play out of a random distribution ofvalues, doesn't it?"

"Yes, if you admit that your definition is a gross oversimplification. Itwould hardly be a game if everything could be calculated beforehand. "

"But what's missing?"

"In any game there is the element of a calculated risk. "

Jimmy Holden was silent for a half-mile thinking that one over. "How, " heasked slowly, "can a risk be calculated?"

His father laughed. "In fine, it can't. Too much depends upon thepersonality of the individual. "

"Seems to me, " said Jimmy, "that there's not much point in making a bidagainst a distribution of values known to be superior. You couldn't hopeto make it; Mother and Uncle Paul had the cards. "

His father laughed again. "After a few more courses in highermathematics, James, you'll begin to realize that some of the highestmathematics is aimed at predicting the unpredictable, or trying to lowerthe entropy of random behavior--"

Jimmy Holden's mother chuckled. "Now explain entropy, " she said. "James, what your father has been failing to explain is really not subject tosimple analysis. Who knows why any man will hazard his hard-earned moneyon the orientation of a pair of dice? No amount of education nor academicstudy will explain what drives a man. Deep inside, I suppose it is thesame force that drives everybody. One man with four spades will take achance to see if he can make five, and another man with directorships inthree corporations will strive to make it four. "

Jimmy's father chuckled. "Some families with one infant will try to makeit two--"

"Not on your life!"

"--And some others are satisfied with what they've got, " finished JimmyHolden's father. "James, some men will avoid seeing what has to be done;some men will see it and do it and do no more; and a few men will seewhat has to be done, do it, and then look to the next inevitable problemcreated by their own act--"

A blinding flash of light cut a swath across the road, dazzling them. Around the curve ahead, a car careened wide over the white line. Hismother reached for him, his father fought the wheel to avoid the crash. Jimmy Holden both heard and felt the sharp _Bang!_ as the right fronttire went. The steering wheel snapped through his father's hands by halfa turn. There was a splintering crash as the car shattered its waythrough the retaining fence, then came a fleeting moment of breathlesssilence as if the entire universe had stopped still for a heartbeat. 

Chaos! His mother's automatic scream, his father's oath, and the rendingcrash split the silence at once. The car bucked and flipped, the doorswere slammed open and ripped off against a tree that went down. The carleaped in a skew turn and began to roll and roll, shedding metal andhumans as it racketed down the ravine. 

Jimmy felt himself thrown free in a tumbleturn that ended in a heavythud. 

 * * * * *

When breath and awareness returned, he was lying in a depression filledwith soft rotting leaves. 

He was dazed beyond hurt. The initial shock and bewilderment oozed out ofhim, leaving him with a feeling of outrage, and a most peculiar sensationof being a spectator rather than an important part of the violent drama. It held an air of unreality, like a dream that the near-conscious sleeperrecognizes as a dream and lives through it because he lacks the consciouswill to direct it. 

Strangely, it was as if there were three or more of him all thinkingdifferent things at the same time. He wanted his mother badly enough tocry. Another part of him said that she would certainly be at his side ifshe were able. Then a third section of his confused mind pointed out thatif she did not come to him, it was because she herself was hurt deeplyand couldn't. 

A more coldly logical portion of his mind was urging him to get up and_do_ something about it. They had passed a telephone booth on thehighway; lying there whimpering wasn't doing anybody any good. Thislogical part of his confused mind did not supply the dime for thetelephone slot nor the means of scaling the heights needed to insertthe dime in the adult-altitude machine. 

Whether the dazzle of mental activity was serial or simultaneous isn'timportant. The fact is that it was completely disorganized as to planor program, it leaped from one subject to another until he heard thescrabble and scratch of someone climbing down the side of the ravine. 

Any noise meant help. With relief, Jimmy tried to call out. 

But with this arrival of help, afterfright claimed him. His mouthworked silently before a dead-dry throat and his muscles twitched inuncontrolled nervousness; he made neither sound nor motion. Again hewatched with the unreal feeling of being a remote spectator. A cone oflight from a flashlight darted about and it gradually seeped into Jimmy'sshocked senses that this was a new arrival, picking his way through thetangle of brush, following the trail of ruin from the broken guard railto the smashed car below. 

The newcomer paused. The light darted forward to fall upon a crumpledmass of cloth. 

With a toe, the stranger probed at crushed ribs. A pitifully feeblemoan came from the broken rag doll that lay on the ground. The searcherknelt with his light close to peer into the bloody face, and, unbelieving, Jimmy Holden heard the voice of his mother strainingto speak, "Paul--I--we--"

The voice died in a gurgle. 

The man with the flashlight tested the flaccid neck by bending the headto one side and back sharply. He ended this inspection by letting thehead fall back to the moist earth. It landed with a thud of finality. 

The cold brutality of this stranger's treatment of his mother shockedJimmy Holden into frantic outrage. The frozen cry for help changed intoprotesting anger; no one should be treated that--

"One!" muttered the stranger flatly. 

Jimmy's burst of protest died in his throat and he watched, fascinated, as the stranger's light moved in a sweep forward to stop a second time. "And there's number two!" The callous horror was repeated. Hypnotically, Jimmy Holden watched the stranger test the temples and wrists and try ahand under his father's heart. He watched the stranger make a detailedinspection of the long slash that laid open the entire left abdomen andhe saw the red that seeped but did not flow. 

"That's that!" said the stranger with an air of finality. "Now--" and hestood up to swing his flashlight in widening circles, searching the areacarefully. 

 * * * * *

Jimmy Holden did not sicken. He went cold. He froze as the dancingflashlight passed over his head, and relaxed partially when it movedaway in a series of little jumps pausing to give a steady light forclose inspection. The light swung around and centered on the smashedautomobile. It was upside down, a ruin with one wheel still turning idly. 

The stranger went to it, and knelt to peer inside. He pried ripped metalaway to get a clear sight into the crushed interior. He went flat on hisstomach and tried to penetrate the area between the crumpled car-top andthe bruised ground, and he wormed his way in a circle all around the car, examining the wreck minutely. 

The sound of a distant automobile engine became audible, and thesearching man mumbled a curse. With haste he scrambled to his feet andmade a quick inspection of the one wabbly-turning wheel. He stripped afew shards of rubber away, picked at something in the bent metal rim, andput whatever he found in his pocket. When his hand came from the pocketit held a packet of paper matches. With an ear cocked at the road aboveand the sound of the approaching car growing louder, the stranger struckone match and touched it to the deck of matches. Then with a callousgesture he tossed the flaring pack into a pool of spilled gasoline. Thefuel went up in a blunt _whoosh_!

The dancing flames revealed the face of Jimmy Holden's "Uncle" PaulBrennan, his features in a mask that Jimmy Holden had never seen before. 

With the determined air of one who knows that still another piece lieshidden, Paul Brennan started to beat back and forth across the trail ofruin. His light swept the ground like the brush of a painter, missing nospot. Slowly and deliberately he went, paying no attention to thecreeping tongues of flame that crept along damp trails of spilledgasoline. 

Jimmy Holden felt helplessly alone. 

For "Uncle" Paul Brennan was the laughing uncle, the golden uncle; hisgodfather; the bringer of delightful gifts and the teller of fabulousstories. Classmate of his father and admirer of his mother, a friend tobe trusted as he trusted his father and mother, as they trusted PaulBrennan. Jimmy Holden did not and could not understand, but he could feelthe presence of menace. And so with the instinct of any trapped animal, he curled inward upon himself and cringed. 

Education and information failed. Jimmy Holden had been told and told andinstructed, and the words had been graven deep in his mind by the samefabulous machine that his father used to teach him his grammar and hisvocabulary and his arithmetic and the horde of other things that madeJimmy Holden what he was: "If anything happens to us, you must turn toPaul Brennan!"

But nothing in his wealth of extraordinary knowledge covered the way tosafety when the trusted friend turned fiend. 

 * * * * *

Shaken by the awful knowledge that all of his props had been kicked outfrom under him, now at last Jimmy Holden whimpered in helpless fright. Brennan turned towards the sound and began to beat his way through theunderbrush. 

Jimmy Holden saw him coming. It was like one of those dreams he'd hadwhere he was unable to move, his muscles frozen, as some unknown horrorstalked him. It could only end in a terrifying fall through cold spacetowards a tremendous lurch against the bedsprings that brought littlecomfort until his pounding heart came back to normal. But this was nodream; it was a known horror that stalked him, and it could not end asa dream ends. It was reality. 

The horror was a close friend turned animal, and the end was morehorrible because Jimmy Holden, like all other five-year-olds, hadabsolutely no understanding nor accurate grasp of the concept called_death_. He continued to whimper even though he realized that his frightwas pointing him out to his enemy. And yet he had no real grasp of theconcept _enemy_. He knew about pain; he had been hurt. But only by falls, simple misadventures, the needles of inoculation administered by hissurgeon mother, a paddling for mischief by his engineer father. 

But whatever unknown fate was coming was going to be worse than "hurt. "It was frightful. 

Then fate, assisted by Brennan's own act of trying to obliterate anypossible evidence by fire, attracted a savior. The approaching carstopped on the road above and a voice called out, "Hello, down there!"

Brennan could not refuse to answer; his own car was in plain sight by theshattered retaining fence. He growled under his breath, but he calledback, "Hello, the road! Go get the police!"

"Can we help?"

"Beyond help!" cried Brennan. "I'm all right. Get the cops!"

The car door slammed before it took off. Then came the unmistakablesounds of another man climbing down the ravine. A second flashlight swunghere and there until the newcomer faced Brennan in the little circle oflight. 

"What happened?" asked the uninvited volunteer. 

Brennan, whatever his thoughts, said in a voice filled with standardconcern: "Blowout. Then everything went blooey. "

"Anyone--I mean how many--?"

"Two dead, " said Brennan, and then added because he had to, "and a littleboy lost. "

The stranger eyed the flames and shuddered. "In there?"

"Parents were tossed out. Boy's missing. "

"Bad, " said the stranger. "God, what a mess. Know 'em?"

"Holdens. Folks that live in the big old house on the hill. My bestfriend and his wife. I was following them home, " lied Brennan glibly. "C'mon let's see if we can find the kid. What about the police?"

"Sent my wife. Telephone down the road. "

Paul Brennan's reply carried no sound of disappointment over beinginterrupted. "Okay. Let's take a look. You take it that way, and I'llcover this side. "

The little-boy mind did not need its extensive education to understandthat Paul Brennan needed no more than a few seconds of unobservedactivity, after which he could announce the discovery of the third deathin a voice cracked with false grief. 

Animal instinct took over where intelligence failed. The same force thatcaused Jimmy Holden to curl within himself now caused him to relax; helpthat could be trusted was now at hand. The muscles of his throat relaxed. He whimpered. The icy paralysis left his arms and legs; he kicked andflailed. And finally his nervous system succeeded in making their contactwith his brain; the nerves carried the pain of his bumps and scratches, and Jimmy Holden began to hurt. His stifled whimper broke into ashuddering cry, which swiftly turned into sobbing hysteria. 

He went out of control. Nothing, not even violence, would shake him backuntil his accumulation of shock upon shock had been washed away in tears. 

The sound attracted both men. Side by side they beat through theunderbrush. They reached for him and Jimmy turned toward the stranger. The man picked the lad out of the bed of soft rotting leaves, cradled himand stroked his head. Jimmy wrapped his small arms around the stranger'sneck and held on for life. 

"I'll take him, " said Brennan, reaching out. 

Jimmy's clutch on the stranger tightened. 

"You won't pry him loose easily, " chuckled the man. "I know. I've got acouple of these myself. "

Brennan shrugged. "I thought perhaps--"

"Forget it, " said the stranger. "Kid's had trouble. I'll carry him to theroad, you take him from there. "

"Okay. "

Getting up the ravine was a job of work for the man who carried JimmyHolden. Brennan gave a hand, aided with a lift, broke down brush, andoffered to take Jimmy now and again. Jimmy only clung tighter, and thestranger waved Brennan away with a quick shake of his head. 

By the time they reached the road, sirens were wailing on the road upthe hill. Police, firemen, and an ambulance swarmed over the scene. Thefiremen went to work on the flaming car with practiced efficiency; thepolice clustered around Paul Brennan and extracted from him a story thathad enough truth in it to sound completely convincing. The doctors fromthe ambulance took charge of Jimmy Holden. Lacking any other accidentvictim, they went to work on him with everything they could do. 

They gave him mild sedation, wrapped him in a warm blanket, and put himto bed on the cot in the ambulance with two of them watching over him. Inthe presence of so many solicitous strangers, Jimmy's shock and frightdiminished. The sedation took hold. He dropped off in a light doze thatgrew less fitful as time went on. By the time the official accidentreport program was over, Jimmy Holden was fast asleep and restingcomfortably. 

He did not hear Paul Brennan's suggestion that Jimmy go home with him, to Paul Brennan's personal physician, nor did Jimmy hear the ambulanceattendants turn away Brennan's suggestion with hard-headed medicalopinion. Brennan could hardly argue with the fact that an accident victimwould be better off in a hospital under close observation. Shock demandedit, and there was the hidden possibility of internal injury or concussionto consider. 

So Jimmy Holden awoke with his accident ten hours behind him, and thegood sleep had completed the standard recuperative powers of the healthychild. He looked around, collecting himself, and then remembered theaccident. He cringed a bit and took another look and identified hissurroundings as some sort of a children's ward or dormitory. 

He was in a crib. 

He sat up angrily and rattled the gate of the crib. Putting James QuincyHolden in a baby's crib was an insult. 

He stopped, because the noise echoed through the room and one of theyounger patients stirred in sleep and moaned. Jimmy Holden sat back andremembered. The vacuum that was to follow the loss of his parents was notyet in evidence. They were gone and the knowledge made him unhappy, buthe was not cognizant of the real meaning or emotion of grief. With almostthe same feeling of loss he thought of the _Jungle Book_ he would neverread and the Spitz Planetarium he would never see casting its little starimages on his bedroom ceiling. Burned and ruined, with the atomic energykit--and he had hoped that he could use the kit to tease his father intogiving him some education in radioactivity. He was old enough to learn--

Learn--?

_No more, now that his father and mother were dead. _

Some of the real meaning of his loss came to him then, and the growingknowledge that this first shocking loss meant the ultimate loss ofeverything was beginning to sink in. 

He broke down and cried in the misery of his loss and his helplessness;ultimately his emotion began to cry itself out, and he began to feelresentment against his position. The animal desire to bite back atanything that moved did not last long, it focused properly upon theperson of his tormentor. Then for a time, Jimmy Holden's imaginationindulged in a series of little vignettes in which he scored his victoryover Paul Brennan. These little playlets went through their ownevolution, starting with physical victory reminiscent of hisJack-and-the-Beanstalk days to a more advanced triumph of watching PaulBrennan led away in handcuffs whilst the District Attorney scanned thesheaf of indisputable evidence provided by James Quincy Holden. 

Somewhere along about this point in his fantasy, a breath of thepractical entered, and Jimmy began to consider the more sensible problemof what sort of information this sheaf of evidence would contain. 

Still identifying himself with the books he knew, Jimmy Holden hadprogressed from the fairy story--where the villain was evil for no moremotive than to provide menace to the hero--to his more advanced books, where the villain did his evil deeds for the logical motive of personalgain. 

Well, what had Paul Brennan to gain?

Money, for one thing--he would be executor of the Holden Estate. Butthere wasn't enough to justify killing. Revenge? For what? Jealousy? Forwhom? Hate? Envy? Jimmy Holden glossed the words quickly, for they wereno more than words that carried definitions that did not really explainthem. He could read with the facility of an adult, but a book written fora sophisticated audience went over his head. 

No, there was only one possible thing of appreciable value; the one thingthat Paul Brennan hoped to gain was the device over which they had workedthrough all the long years to perfect: The Holden ElectromechanicalEducator! Brennan wanted it badly enough to murder for its possession!

And with a mind and ingenuity far beyond his years, Jimmy Holden knewthat he alone was the most active operator in this vicious drama. It wasnot without shock that he realized that he himself could still be killedto gain possession of his fabulous machine. For only with all _three_Holdens dead could Paul Brennan take full and unquestioned possession. 

 * * * * *

With daylight clarity he knew what he had to do. In a single act ofdestruction he could simultaneously foil Paul Brennan's plan and ensurehis own life. 

Permanently installed in Jimmy Holden's brain by the machine itself werethe full details of how to recreate it. Indelibly he knew each wire andlink, lever and coil, section by section and piece by piece. It wasincomprehensible information, about in the same way that the printingpress "knows" the context of its metal plate. Step by step he couldrebuild it once he had the means of procuring the parts, and it wouldwork even though he had not the foggiest notion (now) of what the variousparts did. 

So if the delicate heart of his father's machine were utterly destroyed, Paul Brennan would be extremely careful about preserving the life ofJames Quincy Holden. 

He considered his position and what he knew:

Physically, he was a five-year-old. He stood forty-one inches tall andweighed thirty-nine pounds. A machinist's hammer was a two-handed tooland a five-pound sack of sugar was a burden. Doorknobs and latches were aproblem in manipulation. The negotiation of a swinging door was a feat ofmuscular engineering. Electric light switches were placed at a tiptoereach because, naturally, everything in the adult world is designed bythe adults for the convenience of adults. This makes it difficult for thechild who has no adult to do his bidding. 

Intellectually, Jimmy Holden was something else. 

Reverting to a curriculum considered sound prior to Mr. Dewey'soften-questionable and more often misused programs of schooling, Jimmy'sparents had trained and educated their young man quite well in theprimary informations of fact. He read with facility and spoke with a finevocabulary--although no amount of intellectual training could make hisvoice change until his glands did. His knowledge of history, geographyand literature were good, because he'd used them to study reading. He waswell into plane geometry and had a smattering of algebra, and there hadbeen a pause due to a parental argument as to the advisability of hismemorizing a table of six-place logarithms via the Holden machine. 

Extra-curricularly, Jimmy Holden had acquired snippets, bits, andwholesale chunks of a number of the arts and sciences and otheraggregations of information both pertinent and trivial for one reasonor another. As an instance, he had absorbed an entire bridge book byCharles Goren just to provide a fourth to sit in with his parents andPaul Brennan. 

Consequently, James Holden had in data the education of a boy of aboutsixteen, and in other respects, much more. 

He escaped from the hospital simply because no one ever thought that afive-year-old boy would have enough get-up-and-go to climb out of hiscrib, rummage a nearby closet, dress himself, and then calmly walk out. The clothing of a cocky teen-ager would have been impounded and hisbehavior watched. 

They did not miss him for hours. He went, taking the littleidentification card from its frame at the foot of his bed--and thatruined the correlation between tag and patient. 

By the time an overworked nurse stopped to think and finally asked, "Kitty, are you taking care of the little boy in Bed 6 over in 219?" andreceived the answer, "No, aren't you?" Jimmy Holden was trudging up thehill towards his home. Another hour went by with the two worried nursessurreptitiously searching the rest of the hospital in the simple hopethat he had wandered away and could be restored before it came to theattention of the officials. By the time they gave up and called in othernurses (who helped them in their anxiety to conceal) Jimmy was enteringhis home. 

Each succeeding level of authority was loath to report the truth to thenext higher up. 

By the time the general manager of the hospital forced himself to callPaul Brennan, Jimmy Holden was demolishing the last broken bits ofdisassembled subassemblies he had smashed from the heart-circuit of theHolden Electromechanical Educator. He was most thorough. Broken glasswent into the refuse buckets, bent metal was buried in the garden, inflammables were incinerated, and meltables and fusibles slagged down inashes that held glass, bottle, and empty tin-can in an unrecognizablemass. He left a gaping hole in the machine that Brennan could notfill--nor could any living man fill it now but James Quincy Holden. 

And only when this destruction was complete did Jimmy Holden first beginto understand his father's statement about the few men who see what hasto be done, do it, _and then_ look to the next inevitable problem createdby their own act. 

It was late afternoon by the time Jimmy had his next moves figured out. He left the home he'd grown up in, the home of his parents, of his ownbabyhood. He'd wandered through it for the last time, touching this andsaying goodbye to that. He was certain that he would never see his thingsagain, nor the house itself, but the real vacuum of his loss hadn't yetstarted to form. The concepts of "never" and "forever" were merely wordsthat had no real impact. 

So was the word "Farewell. "

But once his words were said, Jimmy Holden made his small but confidentway to the window of a railroad ticket agent. 

CHAPTER TWO

You are a ticket agent, settled in the routine of your job. From nine tofive-thirty, five days a week, you see one face after another. There arecheerful faces, sullen faces, faces that breathe garlic, whiskey, chewinggum, toothpaste and tobacco fumes. Old faces, young faces, dull faces, scarred faces, clear faces, plain faces and faces so plastered withmakeup that their nature can't be seen at all. They bark place-names atyou, or ask pleasantly about the cost of round-trip versus one-waytickets to Chicago or East Burlap. You deal with them and then you waitfor the next. 

Then one afternoon, about four o'clock, a face barely visible over theedge of the marble counter looks up at you with a boy's cheerful freckledsmile. You have to stand up in order to see him. You smile, and he grinsat you. Among his belongings is a little leather suitcase, kid's size, but not a toy. He is standing on it. Under his arm is a collection ofcomic books, in one small fist is the remains of a candy bar and in theother the string of a floating balloon. 

"Well, young man, where to? Paris? London? Maybe Mars?"

"No, sir, " comes the piping voice, "Roun-tree. "

"Roundtree? Yes, I've heard of that metropolis, " you reply. You look overhis head, there aren't any other customers in line behind him so youdon't mind passing the time of day. "Round-trip or one-way?"

"One-way, " comes the quick reply. 

This brings you to a slow stop. He does not giggle nor prattle, norlaunch into a long and involved explanation with halting, dependentclauses. This one knows what he wants and how to ask for it. Quite alittle man!

"How old are you, young fellow?"

"I was five years old yesterday. "

"What's your name?"

"I'm James Holden. "

The name does not ring any bells--because the morning newspaper ispurchased for its comic strips, the bridge column, the crossword puzzle, and the latest dope on love-nest slayings, peccadilloes of the famous, the cheesecake photo of the inevitable actress-leaving-for-somewhere, andthe full page photograph of the latest death-on-the-highway debacle. Youlook at the picture but you don't read the names in the caption, so youdon't recognize the name, and you haven't been out of your little cagesince lunchtime and Jimmy Holden was not missing then. So you go on:

"So you're going to go to Roundtree. "

"Yessir. "

"That costs a lot of money, young Mister Holden. "

"Yessir. " Then this young man hands you an envelope; the cover says, typewritten: _Ticket Clerk, Midland Railroad_. 

A bit puzzled, you open the envelope and find a five-dollar bill foldedin a sheet of manuscript paper. The note says:

 Ticket Clerk Midland Railroad Dear Sir:

 This will introduce my son, James Holden. As a birthday present, I am sending him for a visit to his grandparents in Roundtree, and to make the adventure complete, he will travel alone. Pass the word along to keep an eye on him but don't step in unless he gets into trouble. Ask the dining car steward to see that he eats dinner on something better than candy bars. 

 Otherwise, he is to believe that he is making this trip completely on his own. 

 Sincerely, Louis Holden. 

 PS: Divide the change from this five dollars among you as tips. L. H. 

And so you look down at young Mister Holden and get a feeling ofvicarious pleasure. You stamp his ticket and hand it to him with agesture. You point out the train-gate he is to go through, and you tellhim that he is to sit in the third railroad car. As he leaves, you pickup the telephone and call the station-master, the conductor, and sinceyou can't get the dining-car steward directly, you charge the conductorwith passing the word along. 

Then you divide the change. Of the two-fifty, you extract a dollar, feeling that the Senior Holden is a cheapskate. You slip the other buckand a half into an envelope, ready for the conductor's hand. He'll thinkHolden Senior is more of a cheapskate, and by the time he extracts hiscut, the dining car steward will _know_ that Holden Senior is acheapskate. But--

Then a face appears at your window and barks, "Holyoke, Mass. , " and yournormal day falls back into shape. 

The response of the people you tell about it varies all the way fromoutrage that anybody would let a kid of five go alone on such a dangerousmission to loud bragging that he, too, once went on such a journey, atfour and a half, and didn't need a note. 

But Jimmy Holden is gone from your window, and you won't know for atleast another day that you've been suckered by a note painstakinglytypewritten, letter by letter, by a five-year-old boy who has a mostremarkable vocabulary. 

Jimmy's trip to Roundtree was without incident. Actually, it was easyonce he had hurdled the ticket-seller with his forged note and thefive-dollar bill from the cashbox in his father's desk. His error in notmaking it a ten was minor; a larger tip would not have provided him withbetter service, because the train crew were happy to keep an eye on theadventurous youngster for his own small sake. Their mild resentmentagainst the small tip was directed against the boy's father, not theyoung passenger himself. 

He had one problem. The train was hardly out of the station beforeeverybody on it knew that there was a five-year-old making a trip allby himself. Of course, he was not to be bothered, but everybody wantedto talk to him, to ask him how he was, to chatter endlessly at him. Jimmy did not want to talk. His experience in addressing adults wasexasperating. That he spoke lucid English instead of babygab did notcompel a rational response. Those who heard him speak made over himwith the same effusive superiority that they used in applauding agolden-haired tot in high heels and a strapless evening gown sittingon a piano and singing, _Why Was I Born?_ in a piping, uncertain-tonedvoice. It infuriated him. 

So he immersed himself in his comic books. He gave his name politelyevery five minutes for the first fifty miles. He turned down offers ofcandy with, "Mommy says I mustn't before supper. " And when dinnertimecame he allowed himself to be escorted through the train by theconductor, because Jimmy knew that he couldn't handle the doors withouthelp. 

The steward placed a menu in front of him, and then asked carefully, "Howmuch money do you want to spend, young man?"

Jimmy had the contents of his father's cashbox pinned to the inside ofhis shirt, and a five-dollar bill folded in a snap-top purse with somechange in his shirt pocket. He could add with the best of them, but hedid not want any more attention than he was absolutely forced to attract. So he fished out the snap-top purse and opened it to show the steward hisfive-dollar bill. The steward relaxed; he'd had a moment of apprehensionthat Holden Senior might have slipped the kid a half-dollar for dinner. (The steward had received a quarter for his share of the originaltwo-fifty. )

Jimmy looked at the "Child's Dinner" menu and pointed out a plate: lambchop and mashed potatoes. After that, dinner progressed without incident. Jimmy topped it off with a dish of ice cream. 

The steward made change. Jimmy watched him carefully, and then said, "Daddy says I'm supposed to give you a tip. How much?"

The steward looked down, wondering how he could explain the standarddining car tip of fifteen or twenty percent of the bill. He took aswallow of air and picked out a quarter. "This will do nicely, " he saidand went off thankful that all people do not ask waiters how much theythink they deserve for the service rendered. 

Thus Jimmy Holden arrived in Roundtree and was observed and convoyed--butnot bothered--off the train. 

It is deplorable that adults are not as friendly and helpful to oneanother as they are to children; it might make for a more pleasant world. As Jimmy walked along the station platform at Roundtree, one of hisformer fellow-passengers walked beside him. "Where are you going, youngman? Someone going to meet you, of course?"

"No, sir, " said Jimmy. "I'm supposed to take a cab--"

"I'm going your way, why not ride along with me?"

"Sure it's all right?"

"Sure thing. Come along. " Jimmy never knew that this man felt good for aweek after he'd done his good turn for the year. 

His grandfather opened the door and looked down at him in completesurprise. "Why, Jimmy! What are you doing here? Who brought--"

His grandmother interrupted, "Come in! Come in! Don't just stand therewith the door open!"

Grandfather closed the door firmly, grandmother knelt and folded Jimmyin her arms and crooned over him, "You poor darling. You brave littlefellow. Donald, " she said firmly to her husband, "go get a glass of warmmilk and some cookies. " She led Jimmy to the old-fashioned parlor andseated him on the sofa. "Now, Jimmy, you relax a moment and then you cantell me what happened. "

Jimmy sighed and looked around. The house was old, and comfortablysturdy. It gave him a sense of refuge, of having reached a safe haven atlast. The house was over-warm, and there was a musty smell of over-agedfurniture, old leather, and the pungence of mothballs. It seemed togenerate a feeling of firm stability. Even the slightly stale air--thereprobably hadn't been a wide open window since the storm sashes wereinstalled last autumn--provided a locked-in feeling that conversely meantthat the world was locked out. 

Grandfather brought in the glass of warmed milk and a plate of cookies. He sat down and asked, "What happened, Jimmy?"

"My mother and father are--"

"You eat your cookies and drink your milk, " ordered his grandmother. "Weknow. That Mr. Brennan sent us a telegram. "

 * * * * *

It was slightly more than twenty-four hours since Jimmy Holden had blownout the five proud candles on his birthday cake and begun to open hisfine presents. Now it all came back with a rush, and when it came back, nothing could stop it. 

Jimmy never knew how very like a little boy of five he sounded thatnight. His speech was clear enough, but his troubled mind was too fullto take the time to form his headlong thoughts into proper sentences. He could not pause to collect his thoughts into any chronology, so itcame out going back and forth all in a single line, punctuated only bynecessary pauses for the intake of breath. He was close to tears beforehe was halfway through, and by the time he came to the end he stopped ina sob and broke out crying. 

His grandfather said, "Jimmy, aren't you exaggerating? Mr. Brennan isn'tthat sort of a man. "

"He is too!" exploded Jimmy through his tears. "I saw him!"

"But--"

"Donald, this is no time to start cross-examining a child. " She crossedthe room and lifted him onto her lap; she stroked his head and held hischeek against her shoulder. His open crying subsided into deep sobs; fromsomewhere she found a handkerchief and made him blow his nose--once, twice, and then a deep thrice. "Get me a warm washcloth, " she told herhusband, and with it she wiped away his tears. The warmth soothed Jimmymore. 

"Now, " she said firmly, "before we go into this any more we'll have agood night's sleep. "

The featherbed was soft and cozy. Like protecting mother-wings, it foldedJimmy into its bosom, and the warm softness drew out of Jimmy whateverremained of his stamina. Tonight he slept of weariness and exhaustion, not of the sedation given last night. Here he felt at home, and it wasgood. 

And as tomorrows always had, tomorrow would take care of itself. 

Jimmy Holden's father and mother first met over an operating table, dressed in the white sterility that leaves only the eyes visible. Shewielded the trephine that laid the patient's brain bare, he kept track ofthe patient's life by observing the squiggles on the roll of graph paperthat emerged from his encephalograph. She knew nothing of the craft ofthe delicate instrument-creator, and he knew even less of the craft ofsurgery. There had been a near-argument during the cleaning-up sessionafter the operation; the near-argument ended when they both realized thatneither of them understood a word of what the other was saying. So thenear-argument became an animated discussion, the general meaning ofwhich became clear: Brain surgeons should know more about the intricaciesof electromechanics, and the designers of delicate, precisioninstrumentation should know more about the mass of human gray matter theywere trying to measure. 

They pooled their intellects and plunged into the problem of creating anencephalograph that would record the infinitesimal irregularities thatwere superimposed upon the great waves. Their operation became large;they bought the old structure on top of the hill and moved in, bag andbaggage. They cohabited but did not live together for almost a year;Paul Brennan finally pointed out that Organized Society might permit acouple of geniuses to become research hermits, but Organized Societystill took a dim view of cohabitation without a license. Besides, suchmessy arrangements always cluttered up the legal clarity of chattels, titles, and estates. 

They married in a quiet ceremony about two years prior to the date thatLouis Holden first identified the fine-line wave-shapes that went withdetermined ideas. When he recorded them and played them back, his brainre-traced its original line of thought, and he could not even make amental revision of the way his thoughts were arranged. For two yearsLouis and Laura Holden picked their way slowly through this field;stumped at one point for several months because the machine was strictlya personal proposition. Recorded by one of them, the playback was clearto that one, but to the other it was wild gibberish--an inexplicabletangle of noise and colored shapes, odors and tastes both pleasant andnasty, and mingled sensations. It was five years after their marriagebefore they found success by engraving information in the brain bysitting, connected to the machine, and reading aloud, word for word, theinformation that they wanted. 

It went by rote, as they had learned in childhood. It was the tiresomerepetition of going over and over and over the lines of a poem or thenumbers of the multiplication table until the pathway was a deeplytrodden furrow in the brain. Forever imprinted, it was retained untildeath. Knowledge is stored by rote. 

To accomplish this end, Louis Holden succeeded in violating all of thetheories of instrumentation by developing a circuit that acted as a sortof reverberation chamber which returned the wave-shape played into itback to the same terminals without interference, and this single circuitbecame the very heart of the Holden Electromechanical Educator. 

With success under way, the Holdens needed an intellectual guinea pig, avirgin mind, an empty store-house to fill with knowledge. They planned atwenty-year program of research, to end by handing their machine to theworld complete with its product and instructions for its use and a listof pitfalls to avoid. 

The conception of James Quincy Holden was a most carefully-plannedparenthood. It was not accomplished without love or passion. Love hadcome quietly, locking them together physically as they had been bondedintellectually. The passion had been deliberately provoked during theproper moment of Laura Holden's cycle of ovulation. This scientificapproach to procreation was no experiment, it was the foregone-conclusiveact to produce a component absolutely necessary for the completion oftheir long program of research. They happily left to Nature's Choice theone factor they could not control, and planned to accept an infant ofeither sex with equal welcome. They loved their little boy as they lovedone another, rejoiced with him, despaired with him, and made their ownway with success and mistake, and succeeded in bringing Jimmy to fiveyears of age quite normal except for his education. 

Now, proficiency in brain surgery does not come at an early age, nor doesworld-wide fame in the field of delicate instrumentation. Jimmy's parentswere over forty-five on the date of his birth. 

Jimmy's grandparents were, then, understandably aged seventy-eight andeighty-one. 

 * * * * *

The old couple had seen their life, and they knew it for what it was. They arose each morning and faced the day knowing that there would be nonew problem, only recurrence of some problem long solved. Theirs was acomfortable routine, long gone was their spirit of adventure, thepleasant notions of trying something a new and different way. At theirage, they were content to take the easiest and the simplest way of doingwhat they thought to be Right. Furthermore, they had lived long enough toknow that no equitable decision can be made by listening to only one sideof any argument. 

While young Jimmy was polishing off a platter of scrambled eggs thefollowing morning, Paul Brennan arrived. Jimmy's fork stopped in midairat the sound of Brennan's voice in the parlor. 

"You called him, " he said accusingly. 

Grandmother Holden said, "He's your legal guardian, James. "

"But--I don't--can't--"

"Now, James, your father and mother knew best. "

"But they didn't know about Paul Brennan. I won't go!"

"You must. "

"I won't!"

"James, " said Grandmother Holden quietly, "you can't stay here. "

"Why not?"

"We're not prepared to keep you. "

"Why not?"

Grandmother Holden despaired. How could she make this youngsterunderstand that eighty is not an age at which to embark upon the processof raising a five-year-old to maturity?

From the other room, Paul Brennan was explaining his side as he'd givenit to the police. "--Forgot the land option that had to be signed. So Itook off after them and drove fast enough to catch up. I was only acouple of hundred yards behind when it happened. "

"He's a liar!" cried Jimmy Holden. 

"That's not a nice thing to say. "

"It's true!"

"Jimmy!" came the reproachful tone. 

"It's true!" he cried. 

His grandfather and Paul Brennan came into the kitchen. "Ah, Jimmy, "said Paul in a soothing voice, "why did you run off? You had everybodyworried. "

"You did! You lie! You--"

"James!" snapped his grandfather. "Stop that talk at once!"

"Be easy with him, Mr. Holden. He's upset. Jimmy, let's get this settledright now. What did I do and how do I lie?"

"Oh, please Mr. Brennan, " said his grandmother. "This isn't necessary. "

"Oh, but it is. It is very important. As the legal guardian of youngJames, I can't have him harboring some suspicion as deep as this. Comeon, Jimmy. Let's talk it out right now. What did I do and how am Ilying?"

"You weren't behind. You forced us off the road. "

"How could he, young man?" demanded Grandfather Holden. 

"I don't know, but he did. "

"Wait a moment, sir, " said Brennan quietly. "It isn't going to be enoughto force him into agreement. He's got to see the truth for itself, of hisown construction from the facts. Now, Jimmy, where was I when you left myapartment?"

"You--you were there. "

"And didn't I say--"

"One moment, " said Grandfather Holden. "Don't lead the witness. "

"Sorry. James, what did I do?"

"You--" then a long pause. 

"Come on, Jimmy. "

"You shook hands with my father. "

"And then?"

"Then you--kissed my mother on the cheek. "

"And then, again?"

"And then you carried my birthday presents down and put them in the car. "

"Now, Jimmy, how does your father drive? Fast or slow?"

"Fast. "

"So now, young man, you tell me how I could go back up to my apartment, get my coat and hat, get my car out of the garage, and race to the top ofthat hill so that I could turn around and come at you around that curve?Just tell me that, young man. "

"I--don't know--how you did it. "

"It doesn't make sense, does it?"

"--No--"

"Jimmy, I'm trying to help you. Your father and I were fraternitybrothers in college. I was best man at your parents' wedding. I am yourgodfather. Your folks were taken away from both of us--and I'm hoping totake care of you as if you were mine. " He turned to Jimmy's grandparents. "I wish to God that I could find the driver of that other car. He didn'thit anybody, but he's as guilty of a hit-and-run offence as the man whodoes. If I ever find him, I'll have him in jail until he rots!"

"Jimmy, " pleaded his grandmother, "can't you see? Mr. Brennan is onlytrying to help. Why would he do the evil thing you say he did?"

"Because--" and Jimmy started to cry. The utter futility of trying tomake people believe was too much to bear. 

"Jimmy, please stop it and be a man, " said Brennan. He put a hand onJimmy's shoulder. Jimmy flung it aside with a quick twist and a turn. "Please, Jimmy, " pleaded Brennan. Jimmy left his chair and buried hisface in a corner of the wall. 

"Jimmy, believe me, " pleaded Brennan. "I'm going to take you to live inyour old house, among your own things. I can't replace your folks, but Ican try to be as close to your father as I know how. I'll see you througheverything, just as your mother and father want me to. "

"No!" exploded Jimmy through a burst of tears. 

Grandfather Holden grunted. "This is getting close to the tantrum stage, "he said. "And the only way to deal with a tantrum is to apply the flat ofthe hand to the round of the bottom. "

"Please, " smiled Brennan. "He's a pretty shaken youngster. He'semotionally hurt and frightened, and he wants to strike out and hurtsomething back. "

"I think he's done enough of that, " said Grandfather Holden. "When Louistossed one of these fits of temper where he wouldn't listen to anyreason, we did as we saw fit anyway and let him kick and scream untilhe got tired of the noise he made. "

"Let's not be rough, " pleaded Jimmy's grandmother. "He's just a littleboy, you know. "

"If he weren't so little he'd have better sense, " snapped Grandfather. 

"James, " said Paul Brennan quietly, "do you see you're making trouble foryour grandparents? Haven't we enough trouble as it is? Now, young man, for the last time, will you walk or will you be carried? Whichever, Jimmy, we're going back home!"

James Holden gave up. "I'll go, " he said bitterly, "but I hate you. "

"He'll be all right, " promised Brennan. "I swear it!"

"Please, Jimmy, be good for Mr. Brennan, " pleaded his grandmother. "Afterall, it's for your own good. " Jimmy turned away, bewildered, hurt andsilent. He stubbornly refused to say goodbye to his grandparents. 

He was trapped in the world of grown-ups that believed a lying adultbefore they would even consider the truth of a child. 

CHAPTER THREE

The drive home was a bitter experience. Jimmy was sullen, and very quiet. He refused to answer any question and he made no reply to any statement. Paul Brennan kept up a running chatter of pleasantries, of promises andplans for their future, and just enough grief to make it sound honest. Had Paul Brennan actually been as honest as his honeyed tones said hewas, no one could have continued to accuse him. But no one is moredifficult to fool than a child--even a normal child. Paul Brennan'sprotestations simply made Jimmy Holden bitter. 

He sat silent and unhappy in the far corner of the front seat all the wayhome. In his mind was a nameless threat, a dread of what would come oncethey were inside--either inside of Paul Brennan's apartment or inside ofhis own home--with the door locked against the outside world. 

But when they arrived, Paul Brennan continued his sympathetic attitude. To Jimmy it was sheer hypocrisy; he was not experienced enough to knowthat a person can commit an act and then convince himself that he hadn't. 

"Jimmy, " said Brennan softly, "I have not the faintest notion ofpunishment. None whatsoever. You ruined your father's great invention. You did that because you thought it was right. Someday when you changeyour mind and come to believe in me, I'll ask you to replace it because Iknow you can. But understand me, young man, I shall not ask you until youmake the first suggestion yourself!"

Jimmy remained silent. 

"One more thing, " said Brennan firmly. "Don't try that stunt with theletter to the station agent again. It won't work twice. Not in this townnor any other for a long, long time. I've made a sort of family-news itemout of it which hit a lot of daily papers. It'll also be in the companypapers of all the railroads and buslines, how Mr. What's-his-name at theMidland Railroad got suckered by a five-year-old running away from home. Understand?"

Jimmy understood but made no sign. 

"Then in September we'll start you in school, " said Brennan. 

This statement made no impression upon young James Holden whatsoever. Hehad no intention of enduring this smothering by overkindness any longerthan it took him to figure out how to run away, and where to run to. Itwas going to be a difficult thing. Cruel treatment, torture, physicalharm were one thing; this act of being a deeply-concerned guardian wassomething else. A twisted arm he could complain about, a bruise he couldshow, the scars of lashing would give credence to his tale. But who wouldlisten to any complaint about too much kindness?

Six months of this sort of treatment and Jimmy Holden himself would beginto believe that his parents were monsters, coldly stuffing information inthe head of an infant instead of letting him grow through a normalchildhood. A year, and Jimmy Holden would be re-creating his father'sreverberation circuit out of sheer gratitude. He'd be cajoled intosigning his own death-warrant. 

But where can a five-year-old hide? There was no appeal to the forces oflaw and order. They would merely pop him into a squad car and deliver himto his guardian. 

Law and order were out. His only chance was to lose himself in some grayhinterland where there were so many of his own age that no one could keeptrack of them all. Whether he would succeed was questionable. But untilhe tried, he wouldn't know, and Jimmy was desperate enough to tryanything. 

He attended the funeral services with Paul Brennan. But while the pastorwas invoking Our Heavenly Father to accept the loving parents of orphanedJames, James the son left the side of his "Uncle" Paul Brennan, who kneltin false piety with his eyes closed. 

Jimmy Holden had with him only his clothing and what was left of the wadof paper money from his father's cashbox still pinned to the inside ofhis shirt. 

This time Jimmy did not ride in style. Burlap sacks covered him whennight fell; they dirtied his clothing and the bottom of the freight carscuffed his shoes. For eighteen hours he hid in the jolting darkness, notknowing and caring less where he was going, so long as it was away!

He was hungry and thirsty by the time the train first began to slow down. It was morning--somewhere. Jimmy looked furtively out of the slit at theedge of the door to see that the train was passing through a region ofcottages dusted black by smoke, through areas of warehouse and factory, through squalor and filth and slum; and vacant lots where the spread ofthe blight area had been so fast that the outward improvement had nottime to build. Eventually the scene changed to solid areas of railroadtrack, and the trains parked there thickened until he could no longersee the city through them. 

Ultimately the train stopped long enough for Jimmy to squeeze out throughthe slit at the edge of the door. 

The train went on and Jimmy was alone in the middle of some huge city. He walked the noisome sidewalk trying to decide what he should do next. Food was of high importance, but how could he get it without attractingattention to himself? He did not know. But finally he reasoned that ahot dog wagon would probably take cash from a youngster without askingembarrassing questions, so long as the cash wasn't anything larger thana five-dollar bill. 

He entered the next one he came to. It was dirty; the windows heldseveral years' accumulation of cooking grease, but the aroma was terrificto a young animal who'd been without food since yesterday afternoon. 

The counterman did not like kids, but he put away his dislike at thesight of Jimmy's money. He grunted when Jimmy requested a dog, tossed oneon the grill and went back to reading his newspaper until some innersense told him it was cooked. Jimmy finished it still hungry and askedfor another. He finished a third and washed down the whole mass with atall glass of highly watered orange juice. The counterman took his moneyand was very careful about making the right change; if this dirty kid hadswiped the five-spot, it could be the counterman's problem of explainingto someone why he had overcharged. Jimmy's intelligence told him thatcountermen in a joint like this didn't expect tips, so he saved himselfthat hurdle. He left the place with a stomach full of food that only theindestructible stomach of a five-year-old could handle and now, fed andreasonably content, Jimmy began to seek his next point of contact. 

He had never been in a big city before. The sheer number of human beingsthat crowded the streets surpassed his expectations. The traffic was notpersonally terrifying, but it was so thick that Jimmy Holden wondered howpeople drove without colliding. He knew about traffic lights and walkedwith the green, staying out of trouble. He saw groups of small childrenplaying in the streets and in the empty lots. Those not much older thanhimself were attending school. 

He paused to watch a group of children his own age trying to playbaseball with a ragged tennis ball and the handle from a broom. It was ahelter-skelter game that made no pattern but provided a lot of fun andscreaming. He was quite bothered by a quarrel that came up; two of hisown age went at one another with tiny fists flying, using words thatJimmy hadn't learned from his father's machine. 

He wondered how he might join them in their game. But they paid him noattention, so he didn't try. 

At lunchtime Jimmy consumed another collection of hot dogs. He continuedto meander aimlessly through the city until schooltime ended, then he sawthe streets and vacant lots fill with older children playing games withmore pattern to them. It was a new world he watched, a world that had notbeen a part of his education. The information he owned was that of theschool curriculum; it held nothing of the daily business of growing up. He knew the general rules of big-league baseball, but the kid-business ofstickball did not register. 

He was at a complete loss. It was sheer chance and his own tremendouscuriosity that led him to the edge of a small group that were busilyengaged in the odd process of trying to jack up the front of a car. 

It wasn't a very good jack; it should have had the weight of a full adultagainst the handle. The kids strained and put their weight on the jack, but the handle wouldn't budge though their feet were off the ground. 

Here was the place where academic information would be useful--and thechance for an "in. " Jimmy shoved himself into the small group and said, "Get a longer handle. "

They turned on him suspiciously. 

"Whatcha know about it?" demanded one, shoving his chin out. 

"Get a longer handle, " repeated Jimmy. "Go ahead, get one. "

"G'wan--"

"Wait, Moe. Maybe--"

"Who's he?"

"I'm Jimmy. "

"Jimmy who?"

"Jimmy--James. " Academic information came up again. "Jimmy. Like thejimmy you use on a window. "

"Jimmy James. Any relation to Jesse James?"

James Quincy Holden now told his first whopper. "I, " he said, "am hisgrandson. "

The one called Moe turned to one of the younger ones. "Get a longerhandle, " he said. 

While the younger one went for something to use as a longer handle, Moeinvited Jimmy to sit on the curb. "Cigarette?" invited Moe. 

"I don't smoke, " said Jimmy. 

"Sissy?"

Adolescent-age information looking out through five-year-old eyes assayedMoe. Moe was about eight, maybe even nine; taller than Jimmy but noheavier. He had a longer reach, which was an advantage that Jimmy did notcare to hazard. There was no sure way to establish physical superiority;Jimmy was uncertain whether any show of intellect would be welcome. 

"No, " he said. "I'm no sissy. I don't like 'em. "

Moe lit a cigarette and smoked with much gesturing and flickings of ashesand spitting at a spot on the pavement. He was finished when the youngerone came back with a length of water pipe that would fit over the handleof the jack. 

The car went up with ease. Then came the business of removing the hubcapand the struggle to loose the lugbolts. Jimmy again suggested theapplication of the length of pipe. The wheel came off. 

"C'mon, Jimmy, " said Moe. "We'll cut you in. "

"Sure, " nodded Jimmy Holden, willing to see what came next so long as itdid not have anything to do with Paul Brennan. Moe trundled the car wheeldown the street, steering it with practiced hands. A block down and ablock around that corner, a man with a three-day growth of whiskersstopped a truck with a very dirty license plate. Moe stopped and theman jumped out of the truck long enough to heave the tire and wheel intothe back. 

The man gave Moe a handful of change which Moe distributed among thelittle gang. Then he got in the truck beside the driver and waved forJimmy to come along. 

"What's that for?" demanded the driver. 

"He's a smarty pants, " said Moe. "A real good one. "

"Who're you?"

"Jimmy--James. "

"What'cha do, kid?"

"What?"

"Moe, what did this kid sell you?"

"You and your rusty jacks, " grunted Moe. "Jimmy James here told us how toput a long hunk of pipe on the handle. "

"Jimmy James, who taught you about leverage?" demanded the driversuspiciously. 

Jimmy Holden believed that he was in the presence of an educated man. "Archimedes, " he said solemnly, giving it the proper pronunciation. 

The driver said to Moe, "Think he's all right?"

"He's smart enough. "

"Who're your parents, kid?"

Jimmy Holden realized that this was a fine time to tell the truth, butproperly diluted to taste. "My folks are dead, " he said. 

"Who you staying with?"

"No one. "

The driver of the truck eyed him cautiously for a moment. "You escapedfrom an orphan asylum?"

"Uh-huh, " lied Jimmy. 

"Where?"

"Ain't saying. "

"Wise, huh?"

"Don't want to get sent back, " said Jimmy. 

"Got a flop?"

"Flop?"

"Place to sleep for the night. "

"No. "

"Where'd you sleep last night?"

"Boxcar. "

"Bindlestiff, huh?" roared the man with laughter. 

"No, sir, " said Jimmy. "I've no bindle. "

The man's roar of laughter stopped abruptly. "You're a pretty wise kid, "he said thoughtfully. 

"I told y' so, " said Moe. 

"Shut up, " snapped the man. "Kid, do you want a flop for the night?"

"Sure. "

"Okay. You're in. "

"What's your name?" asked Jimmy. 

"You call me Jake. Short for Jacob. Er--here's the place. "

The "Place" had no other name. It was a junkyard. In it were car parts, wrecks with parts undamaged, whole motors rusting in the air, axles, wheels, differential assemblies and transmissions from a thousand cars ofa thousand different parentages. Hubcaps abounded in piles sorted to sizeand shape. Jake drove the little pickup truck into an open shed. The tireand wheel came from the back and went immediately into place on acomplicated gadget. In a couple of minutes, the tire was off the wheeland the inner tube was out of the casing. Wheel, casing, and inner tubeall went into three separate storage piles. 

Not only a junkyard, but a stripper's paradise. Bring a hot car in hereand in a few hours no one could find it. Its separated parts would besold piece by piece and week by week as second-hand replacements. 

Jake said, "Dollar-fifty. "

"Two, " said Moe. 

"One seventy-five. "

"Two. "

"Go find it and put it back. "

"Gimme the buck-six, " grunted Moe. "Pretty cheap for a good shoe, awheel, and a sausage. "

"Bring it in alone next time, and I'll slip you two-fifty. That gang youuse costs, too. Now scram, Jimmy James and I got business to talk over. "

"He taking over?"

"Don't talk stupid. I need a spotter. You're too old, Moe. And if he'sany good, you gotta promotion coming. "

"And if he ain't?"

"Don't come back!"

Moe eyed Jimmy Holden. "Make it good--Jimmy. " There was malice in Moe'sface. 

Jake looked down at Jimmy Holden. With precisely the same experiencedtechnique he used to estimate the value of a car loaded with road dirt, rust, and collision-smashed fenders, Jake stripped the child of thedirty clothing, the scuffed shoes, the mussed hair, and saw through tothe value beneath. Its price was one thousand dollars, offered with noquestions asked for information that would lead to the return of oneJames Quincy Holden to his legal guardian. 

It wasn't magic on Jake's part. Paul Brennan had instantly offered areward. And Jake made it his business to keep aware of such matters. 

How soon, wondered Jake, might the ante be raised to two Gee? Five? Andin the meantime, if things panned, Jimmy could be useful as a spotter. 

"You afraid of that Moe punk, Jimmy?"

"No sir. "

"Good, but keep an eye on him. He'd sell his mother for fifty cents clearprofit--seventy-five if he had to split the deal. Now, kid, do you knowanything about spotting?"

"No sir. "

"Hungry?"

"Yes sir. "

"All right. Come on in and we'll eat. Do you like Mulligan?"

"Yes sir. "

"Good. You and me are going to get along. "

Inside of the squalid shack, Jake had a cozy set-up. The filth that heencouraged out in the junkyard was not tolerated inside his shack. Thedividing line was halfway across the edge of the door; the inside was asclean, neat, and shining as the outside was squalid. 

"You'll sleep here, " said Jake, waving towards a small bedroom with asingle twin bunk. "You'll make yer own bed and take a shower everynight--or out! Understand?"

"Yes sir. "

"Good. Now, let's have chow, and I'll tell you about this spottingbusiness. You help me, and I'll help you. One blab and back you go towhere you came from. Get it?"

"Yes sir. "

And so, while the police of a dozen cities were scouring their beats fora homeless, frightened five-year-old, Jimmy Holden slept in a comfortablebed in a clean room, absolutely disguised by an exterior that looked likean abandoned manure shed. 

CHAPTER FOUR

Jimmy discovered that he was admirably suited to the business ofspotting. The "job turnover" was high because the spotter must be youngenough to be allowed the freedom of the preschool age, yet be matureenough to follow orders. 

The job consisted of meandering through the streets of the city, inthe aimless patterns of youth, while keeping an eye open for parkedautomobiles with the ignition keys still in their locks. 

Only a very young child can go whooping through the streets bumpingpedestrians, running wildly, or walking from car to car twiggling eachdoor handle and peering inside as if he were imitating a door-to-doorsalesman, occasionally making a minor excursion in one shop door and outthe other. 

He takes little risk. He merely spots the target. He reports that thereis such-and-such a car parked so-and-so, after which he goes on to spotthe next target. The rest of the business is up to the men who do theactual stealing. 

Jimmy's job-training program took only one morning. That same afternoonhe went to work for Jake's crew. 

Jake's experience with kids had been no more than so-so promising. Heused them because they were better than nothing. He did not expect themto stay long; they were gobbled up by the rules of compulsory educationjust about the age when they could be counted upon to follow orders. 

He felt about the same with Jimmy Holden; the "missing person" reportstated that one of the most prominent factors in the lad's positiveidentification was his high quality of speech and his superiorintelligence. (This far Paul Brennan had to go, and he had divulgedthe information with great reluctance. )

But though Jake needed a preschool child with intelligence, he did notrealize the height of Jimmy Holden's. 

It was obvious to Jimmy on the second day that Jake's crew was not takingadvantage of every car spotted. One of them had been a "natural" toJimmy's way of thinking. He asked Jake about it: "Why didn't you take thesea-green Ford in front of the corner store?"

"Too risky. "

"Risky?"

Jake nodded. "Spotting isn't risky, Jimmy. But picking the car up is. There is a very dangerous time when the driver is a sitting duck. Fromthe moment he opens the car door he is in danger. Sitting in the chanceof getting caught, he must start the car, move it out of the parkingspace into traffic, and get under way and gone before he is safe. "

"But the sea-green Ford was sitting there with its engine running!"

"Meaning, " nodded Jake, "that the driver pulled in and made a fast dashinto the store for a newspaper or a pack of cigarettes. "

"I understand. Your man could get caught. Or, " added Jimmy thoughtfully, "the owner might even take his car away before we got there. "

Jake nodded. This one was going to make it easy for him. 

As the days wore on, Jimmy became more selective. He saw no point inreporting a car that wasn't going to be used. An easy mark wedged betweentwo other cars couldn't be removed with ease. A car parked in front of aparking meter with a red flag was dangerous, it meant that the time wasup and the driver should be getting nervous about it. A man who cameshopping along the street to find a meter with some time left by theformer driver was obviously looking for a quick-stop place--whereas theman who fed the meter to its limit was a much better bet. 

Jake, thankful for what Fate had brought him, now added refinements ofeducation. Cars parked in front of supermarkets weren't safe; the ownermight be standing just inside the big plate glass window. The car parkedhurriedly just before the opening of business was likely to be a good betbecause people are careless about details when they are hurrying to punchthe old time clock. 

Jake even closed down his operations during the calculated dangerperiods, but he made sure to tell Jimmy Holden why. 

From school-closing to dinnertime Jimmy was allowed to do as he pleased. He found it hard to enjoy playing with his contemporaries, and Jake'sexplanation about dangerous times warned Jimmy against joining Moe andhis little crew of thieves. Jimmy would have enjoyed helping in thestripping yard, but he had not the heft for it. They gave him littlemessy jobs to do that grimed his hands and made Jake's stern rule ofcleanliness hard to achieve. Jimmy found it easier to avoid such jobsthan to scrub his skin raw. 

One activity he found to his ability was the cooking business. 

Jake was a stew-man, a soup-man, a slum-gullion man. The fellows whoroamed in and out of Jake's Place dipped their plate of slum from thepot and their chunk of bread from the loaf and talked all through thisnever-started and never-ended lunch. With the delicacy of his "inside"life, Jake knew the value of herbs and spices and he was a hardtaskmaster. But inevitably, Jimmy learned the routine of brewing a bucketof slum that suited Jake's taste, after which Jimmy was now and thenpermitted to take on the more demanding job of cooking the steaks andchops that made their final evening meal. 

Jimmy applied himself well, for the knowledge was going to be handy. Moreimportant, it kept him from the jobs that grimed his hands. 

He sought other pursuits, but Jake had never had a resident spotterbefore and the play-facilities provided were few. Jimmy took toreading--necessarily, the books that Jake read, that is, approximatelyequal parts of science fiction and girlie-girlie books. The sciencefiction he enjoyed; but he was not able to understand why he wasn'tinterested in the girlie books. So Jimmy read. Jake even went out of hisway to find more science fiction for the lad. 

Ultimately, Jimmy located a potential source of pleasure. 

He spotted a car with a portable typewriter on the back seat. The car waslocked and therefore no target, but it stirred his fancy. Thereafter headded a contingent requirement to his spotting. A car with a typewriterwas more desirable than one without. 

Jimmy went on to further astound Jake by making a list of what thecustomers were buying. After that he concentrated on spotting those carsthat would provide the fastest sale for their parts. 

It was only a matter of time; Jimmy spotted a car with a portabletypewriter. It was not as safe a take as his others, but he reported it. Jake's driver picked it up and got it out in a squeak; the car itselfturned up to be no great find. 

Jimmy claimed the typewriter at once. 

Jake objected: "No dice, Jimmy. "

"I want it, Jake. "

"Look, kid, I can sell it for twenty. "

"But I want it. "

Jake eyed Jimmy thoughtfully, and he saw two things. One was athousand-dollar reward standing before him. The other was a row of prisonbars. 

Jake could only collect one and avoid the other by being very sure thatJimmy Holden remained grateful to Jake for Jake's shelter and protection. 

He laughed roughly. "All right, Jimmy, " he said. "You lift it and you canhave it. "

Jimmy struggled with the typewriter, and succeeded only because it was anew one made of the titanium-magnesium-aluminum alloys. It hung betweenhis little knees, almost--but not quite--touching the ground. 

"You have it, " said Jake. He lifted it lightly and carried it into theboy's little bedroom. 

Jimmy started after dinner. He picked out the letters with the samepainful search he'd used in typing his getaway letter. He made thesame mistakes he'd made before. It had taken him almost an hour andnearly fifty sheets of paper to compose that first note without anerror; that was no way to run a railroad; now Jimmy was determinedto learn the proper operation of this machine. But finally the jaggedtack-tack--pause--tack-tack got on Jake's nerves. 

Jake came in angrily. "You're wasting paper, " he snapped. He eyed Jimmythoughtfully. "How come with your education you don't know how to type?"

"My father wouldn't let me. "

"Seems your father wouldn't let you do anything. "

"He said that I couldn't learn until I was old enough to learn properly. He said I must not get into the habit of using the hunt-and-peck system, or I'd never get out of it. "

"So what are you doing now?"

"My father is dead. "

"And anything he said before doesn't count any more?"

"He promised me that he'd start teaching me as soon as my hands were bigenough, " said Jimmy soberly. "But he isn't here any more. So I've got tolearn my own way. "

Jake reflected. Jimmy was a superior spotter. He was also a potentialdanger; the other kids played it as a game and didn't really realize whatthey were doing. This one knew precisely what he was doing, knew that itwas wrong, and had the lucidity of speech to explain in full detail. Itwas a good idea to keep him content. 

"If you'll stop that tap-tapping for tonight, " promised Jake, "I'll getyou a book tomorrow. Is it a deal?"

"You will?"

"I will if you'll follow it. "

"Sure thing. "

"And, " said Jake, pushing his advantage, "you'll do it with the doorclosed so's I can hear this TV set. "

"Yes sir. "

Jake kept his word. 

On the following afternoon, not only was Jimmy presented with one of thestandard learn-it-yourself books on touch-typing, but Jake also contriveda sturdy desk out of one old packing case and a miniature chair out ofanother. Both articles of home-brewed furniture Jake insisted upon havingpainted before he permitted them inside his odd dwelling, and thatdelayed Jimmy one more day. 

But it was only one more day; and then a new era of experience began forJimmy. 

It would be nice to report that he went at it with determination, self-discipline, and system, following instructions to the letter andemerging a first-rate typist. 

Sorry. Jimmy hated every minute of it. He galled at the pages and pagesof _juj juj juj frf frf frf_. He cried with frustration because he couldnot perform the simple exercise to perfection. He skipped through thebook so close to complete failure that he hurled it across the room, andcried in anger because he had not the strength to throw the typewriterafter it. Throw the machine? He had not the strength in his pinky topress the carriage-shift key!

Part of his difficulty was the size of his hands, of course. But most ofhis trouble lay deep-seated in his recollection of his parents' fabulousmachine. It would have made a typist of him in a single half-hoursession, or so he thought. 

He had yet to learn about the vast gulf that lies between theory andpractice. 

It took Jimmy several weeks of aimless fiddling before he realized thatthere was no easy short-cut. Then he went back to the _juj juj juj frffrf frf_ routine and hated it just as much, but went on. 

He invented a kind of home-study "hooky" to break the monotony. He wouldrun off a couple of pages of regular exercise, and then turn back to thehunt-and-peck system of typing to work on a story. He took a furtive gleein this; he felt that he was getting away with something. In mid-July, Jake caught him at it. 

"What's going on?" demanded Jake, waving the pages of manuscript copy. 

"Typing, " said Jimmy. 

Jake picked up the typing guidebook and waved it under Jimmy's nose. "Show me where it says you gotta type anything like, 'Captain Brandonstruggled against his chains when he heard Lady Hamilton scream. Thepirate's evil laugh rang through the ship. "Curse you--"'"

Jake snorted. 

"But--" said Jimmy faintly. 

"But nothing!" snapped Jake. "Stop the drivel and learn that thing! Youthink I let you keep the machine just to play games? We gotta find a wayto make it pay off. Learn it good!"

He stamped out, taking the manuscript with him. From that moment on, Jimmy's furtive career as an author went on only when Jake was either outfor the evening or entertaining. In any case, he did not bother Jimmyfurther, evidently content to wait until Jimmy had "learned it good"before putting this new accomplishment to use. Nor did Jimmy bother him. It was a satisfactory arrangement for the time being. Jimmy hid his"work" under a pile of raw paper and completed it in late August. Then, with the brash assurance of youth, he packed and mailed his firstfinished manuscript to the editor of _Boy's Magazine_. 

His typing progressed more satisfactorily than he realized, even thoughhe was still running off page after page of repetitious exercise, leavened now and then by a page of idiotic sentences the letters ofwhich were restricted to the center of the typewriter keyboard. Thepractice, even the hunt-and-peck relaxation from discipline, exercisedthe small muscles. Increased strength brought increased accuracy. 

September rolled in, the streets emptied of school-aged children and theout-of-state car licenses diminished to a trickle. With the end of thecarefree vacation days went the careless motorist. 

Jake, whose motives were no more altruistic than his intentions werelegal, began to look for a means of disposing of Jimmy Holden at thegreatest profit to himself. Jake stalled only because he hoped that thereward might be stepped up. 

But it was Jimmy's own operations that closed this chapter of his life. 

CHAPTER FIVE

Jimmy had less scout work to do and no school to attend; he was too smallto help in the sorting of car parts and too valuable to be tossed out. Hewas in the way. 

So he was in Jake's office when the mail came. He brought the bundle toJake's desk and sat on a box, sorting the circulars and catalogs from thefirst class. Halfway down the pile was a long envelope addressed to_Jimmy James_. 

He dropped the rest with a little yelp. Jake eyed him quickly andsnatched the letter out of Jimmy's hands. 

"Hey! That's mine!" said Jimmy. Jake shoved him away. 

"Who's writing you?" demanded Jake. 

"It's mine!" cried Jimmy. 

"Shut up!" snapped Jake, unfolding the letter. "I read _all_ the mailthat comes here first. "

"But--"

"Shut your mouth and your teeth'll stay in, " said Jake flatly. Heseparated a green slip from the letter and held the two covered while heread. "Well, well, " he said. "Our little Shakespeare!" With a disdainfulgrunt Jake tossed the letter to Jimmy. 

Eagerly, Jimmy took the letter and read:

 Dear Mr. James:

 We regret the unconscionable length of time between your submission and this reply. However, the fact that this reply is favorable may be its own apology. We are enclosing a check for $20. 00 with the following explanation:

 Our policy is to reject all work written in dialect. At the best we request the author to rewrite the piece in proper English and frame his effect by other means. Your little story is not dialect, nor is it bad literarily, the framework's being (as it is) a fairly good example of a small boy's relating in the first person one of his adventures, using for the first time his father's typewriter. But you went too far. I doubt that even a five-year-old would actually make as many typographical errors. 

 However, we found the idea amusing, therefore our payment. One of our editors will work your manuscript into less-erratic typescript for eventual publication. 

 Please continue to think of us in the future, but don't corn up your script with so many studied blunders. 

 Sincerely, Joseph Brandon, editor, Boy's Magazine. 

"Gee, " breathed Jimmy, "a check!"

Jake laughed roughly. "Shakespeare, " he roared. "Don't corn up yourstuff! You put too many errors in! Wow!"

Jimmy's eyes began to burn. He had no defense against this sarcasm. Hewanted praise for having accomplished something, instead of raucouslaughter. 

"I wrote it, " he said lamely. 

"Oh, go away!" roared Jake. 

Jimmy reached for the check. 

"Scram, " said Jake, shutting his laughter off instantly. 

"It's mine!" cried Jimmy. 

Jake paused, then laughed again. "Okay, smart kid. Take it and spend it!"He handed the check to Jimmy Holden. 

Jimmy took it quickly and left. 

He wanted to eye it happily, to gloat over it, to turn it over and overand to read it again and again; but he wanted to do it in private. 

He took it with him to the nearest bank, feeling its folded bulk andrunning a fingernail along the serrated edge. 

He re-read it in the bank, then went to a teller's window. "Can you cashthis, please?" he asked. 

The teller turned it over. "It isn't endorsed. "

"I can't reach the desk to sign it, " complained Jimmy. 

"Have you an account here?" asked the teller politely. 

"Well, no sir. "

"Any identification?"

"No--no sir, " said Jimmy thoughtfully. Not a shred of anything did hehave to show who he was under either name. 

"Who is this Jimmy James?" asked the teller. 

"Me. I am. "

The teller smiled. "And you wrote a short story that sold to _Boy'sMagazine_?" he asked with a lifted eyebrow. "That's pretty good for alittle guy like you. "

"Yes sir. "

The teller looked over Jimmy's head; Jimmy turned to look up at one ofthe bank's policemen. "Tom, what do you make of this?"

The policeman shrugged. He stooped down to Jimmy's level. "Where did youget this check, young fellow?" he asked gently. 

"It came in the mail this morning. "

"You're Jimmy James?"

"Yes sir. " Jimmy Holden had been called that for more than half a year;his assent was automatic. 

"How old are you, young man?" asked the policeman kindly. 

"Five and a half. "

"Isn't that a bit young to be writing stories?"

Jimmy bit his lip. "I wrote it, though. "

The policeman looked up at the teller with a wink. "He can tell a goodyarn, " chuckled the policeman. "Shouldn't wonder if he could write one. "

The teller laughed and Jimmy's eyes burned again. "It's mine, " heinsisted. 

"If it's yours, " said the policeman quietly, "we can settle it fastenough. Do your folks have an account here?"

"No sir. "

"Hmmm. That makes it tough. "

Brightly, Jimmy asked, "Can I open an account here?"

"Why, sure you can, " said the policeman. "All you have to do is to bringyour parents in. "

"But I want the money, " wailed Jimmy. 

"Jimmy James, " explained the policeman with a slight frown to the teller, "we can't cash a check without positive identification. Do you know whatpositive identification means?"

"Yes sir. It means that you've got to be sure that this is me. "

"Right! Now, those are the rules. Now, of course, you don't look likethe sort of young man who would tell a lie. I'll even bet your realname is Jimmy James, Jr. But you see, we have no proof, and our bosswill be awful mad at us if we break the rules and cash this check withoutfollowing the rules. The rules, Jimmy James, aren't to delay nice, honestpeople, but to stop people from making mistakes. Mistakes such as takinga little letter out of their father's mailbox. If we cashed that check, then it couldn't be put back in father's mailbox without anybody knowingabout it. And that would be real bad. "

"But it's mine!"

"Sonny, if that's yours, all you have to do is to have your folks come inand say so. Then we'll open an account for you. "

"Yes sir, " said Jimmy in a voice that was thick with tears of frustrationclose to the surface. He turned away and left. 

Jake was still in the outside office of the Yard when Jimmy returned. Theboy was crestfallen, frustrated, unhappy, and would not have returned atall if there had been another place where he was welcome. He expectedridicule from Jake, but Jake smiled. 

"No luck, kid?"

Jimmy just shook his head. 

"Checks are tough, Jimmy. Give up, now?"

"No!"

"No? What then?"

"I can write a letter and sign it, " said Jimmy, explaining how he hadoutfoxed the ticket seller. 

"Won't work with checks, Jimmy. For me now, if I was to be polite anddressed right they might cash a twenty if I showed up with my socialsecurity card, driver's license, identification card with photographsealed in, and all that junk. But a kid hasn't got a chance. Look, Jimmy, I'm sorry for this morning. To-morrow morning we'll go over to my bankand I'll have them cash it for you. It's yours. You earned it and youkeep it. Okay? Are we friends again?"

"Yes sir. "

Gravely they shook hands. "Watch the place, kid, " said Jake. "I got tomake a phone call. "

In the morning, Jake dressed for business and insisted that Jimmy put onhis best to make a good impression. After breakfast, they set out. Jakeparked in front of a granite building. 

"This isn't any bank, " objected Jimmy. "This is a police station. "

"Sure, " responded Jake. "Here's where we get you an identification card. Don't you know?"

"Okay, " said Jimmy dubiously. 

Inside the station there were a number of men in uniform and in plainclothing. Jake strode forward, holding Jimmy by one small hand. Theyapproached the sergeant's desk and Jake lifted Jimmy up and seated him onone edge of the desk with his feet dangling. 

The sergeant looked at them with interest but without surprise. 

"Sergeant, " said Jake, "this is Jimmy James--as he calls himself whenhe's writing stories. Otherwise he is James Quincy Holden. "

Jimmy went cold all over. 

Jake backed through the circle that was closing in; the hole he made wasfilled by Paul Brennan. 

It was not the first betrayal in Jimmy James's young life, but it wastotally unexpected. He didn't know that the policeman from the bank hadworried Jake; he didn't know that Jake had known all along who he was; hedidn't know how fast Brennan had moved after the phone call from Jake. But his young mind leaped past the unknown facts to reach a certain, andcorrect, conclusion. 

He had been sold out. 

"Jimmy, Jimmy, " came the old, pleading voice. "Why did you run away?Where have you been?"

Brennan stepped forward and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Withouta shadow of doubt, " he said formally, "this is James Quincy Holden. I soidentify him. And with no more ado, I hand you the reward. " He reachedinto his inside pocket and drew out an envelope, handing it to Jake. "Ihave never parted with one thousand dollars so happily in my life. "

Jimmy watched, unable to move. Brennan was busy and cheerful, the modelof the man whose long-lost ward has been returned to him. 

"So, James, shall we go quietly or shall we have a scene?"

Trapped and sullen, Jimmy Holden said nothing. The officers helped himdown from the desk. He did not move. Brennan took him by a hand that wasas limp as wet cloth. Brennan started for the door. The arm lifted untilthe link was taut; then, with slow, dragging steps, James Quincy Holdenstarted 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. Hewent 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 practicebefore he became proficient with his typewriter. For a moment he feltclose to tears. It had been the only possession he truly owned, now itwas gone. And with it was gone the author's first check. The thrill ofthat first check is far greater than Graduation or the First Job. It isapproximately equal to the flush of pride that comes when the author'sstory hits print with his NAME appended. 

But Jimmy's typewriter was gone, and his check was gone. Without a doubtthe 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 lawitself, and have your legal guardian--myself--ask for the privilege oftutoring you at home. Well, I won't do it. "

He drove for a moment, thinking. "So you're going to attend school, " hesaid, "and while you're there you're going to be careful not to discloseby any act or inference that you already know everything they can teachyou. Otherwise they will ask some embarrassing questions. And the firstthing that happens to you is that you will be put in a much harder placeto 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. Ifso, you have only to say the word--rebuild your father's machine--and goon 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 willlive the life proper to your station--and your age. I won't deny you asingle thing, Jimmy. Not a single thing that a five-year-old can want. "

CHAPTER SIX

Paul Brennan moved into the Holden house with Jimmy. 

Jimmy had the run of the house--almost. Uncle Paul closed off the uppersitting room, which the late parents had converted into their laboratory. _That_ was locked. But the rest of the house was free, and Jimmy was oncemore among the things he had never hoped to see again. 

Brennan's next step was to hire a middle-aged couple to take care ofhouse and boy. Their name was Mitchell; they were childless and regrettedit; they lavished on Jimmy the special love and care that comes only fromchildless child-lovers. 

Though Jimmy was wary to the point of paranoia, he discovered that hewanted for nothing. He was kept clean and his home kept tidy. He was fedwell--not only in terms of nourishment, but in terms of what he liked. 

Then ... Jimmy began to notice changes. 

_Huckleberry Finn_ turned up missing. In its place on the shelf was acollection of Little Golden Books. 

His advanced Mecanno set was "broken"--so Mrs. Mitchell told him. UnclePaul had accidentally crushed it. "But you'll like this better, " shebeamed, handing him a fresh new box from the toy store. It containedbright-colored modular blocks. 

Jimmy's parents had given him canvasboard and oil paints; now they weregone. Jimmy would have admitted he was no artist; but he didn't enjoyretrogressing to his uncle's selection--finger paints. 

His supply of drawing paper was not tampered with. But it was notreplaced. When it was gone, Jimmy was presented with a blackboard andboxes of colored chalk. 

By Christmas every possession was gone--replaced--the new toys tailoredto Jimmy's physical age. There was a Christmas tree, and under it a pileof gay bright boxes. Jimmy had hardly the heart to open them, for he knewwhat they would contain. 

He was right. 

Jimmy had everything that would keep a five-year-old boycontented ... And not one iota more. He objected; his objections got himnowhere. Mrs. Mitchell was reproachful: Ingratitude, Jimmy! Mr. Mitchellwas scornful: Maybe James would like to vote and smoke a pipe?

And Paul Brennan was very clear. There was a way out of this, yes. Jimmycould have whatever he liked. There was just this one step that must betaken first; the machine must be put back together again. 

When it came time for Jimmy to start school he was absolutely delighted;nothing, nothing could be worse than this. 

At first it was a novel experience. 

He sat at a desk along with forty-seven other children of his size, neatly stacked in six aisles with eight desks to the tier. He did hisbest to copy their manners and to reproduce their halting speech andimperfect grammar. For the first couple of weeks he was not noticed. 

The teacher, with forty-eight young new minds to study, gave him his2. 08% of her total time and attention. Jimmy Holden was not a deportmentproblem; his answers to the few questions she directed at him werecorrect. Therefore he needed less attention and got less; she spent hertime on the loud, the unruly and those who lagged behind in education. 

Because his total acquaintance with children of his own age had beenamong the slum kids that hung around Jake Caslow's Place, Jimmy found hisnew companions an interesting bunch. 

He watched them, and he listened to them. He copied them and in two weeksJimmy found them pitifully lacking and hopelessly misinformed. They couldnot remember at noon what they had been told at ten o'clock. They haddifficulty in reading the simple pages of the First Reader. 

But he swallowed his pride and stumbled on and on, mimicking his friendsand remaining generally unnoticed. 

If written examinations were the rule in the First Grade, Jimmy wouldhave been discovered on the first one. But with less than that 2% of theteacher's time directed at him, Jimmy's run of correct answers did notattract notice. His boredom and his lack of attention during daydreamsmade him seem quite normal. 

He began to keep score on his classmates on the fly-leaf of one of hisbooks. Jimmy was a far harsher judge than the teacher. He marked themeither wrong or right; he gave no credit for trying, or for theirstumbling efforts to express their muddled ideas and incomplete grasp. Hefound their games fun at first, but quickly grew bored. When he tried tointroduce a note of strategy they ignored him because they did notunderstand. They made rules as they went along and changed them as theysaw fit. Then, instead of complying with their own rules, they pouted-upand sulked when they couldn't do as they wanted. 

But in the end it was Jimmy's lack of experience in acting that trippedhim. 

Having kept score on his playmates' answers, Jimmy knew that some fairlyhigh percentage of answers must inevitably be wrong. So he embarked upona program of supplying a certain proportion of errors. He discovered thatsupplying a wrong answer that was consistent with the age of hiscontemporaries took too much of his intellect to keep his actionsstraight. He forgot to employ halting speech and childlike grammar. Hiserrors were delivered in faultless grammar and excellent self-expression;his correct answers came out in the English of his companions;mispronounced, ill-composed, and badly delivered. 

The contrast was enough to attract even 2. 08% of a teacher. 

During the third week of school, Jimmy was day-dreaming during class. Abruptly his teacher snapped, "James Holden, how much is seven timesnine?"

"Sixty-three, " replied Jimmy, completely automatic. 

"James, " she said softly, "do you know the rest of your numbers?"

Jimmy looked around like a trapped animal. His teacher waited him outuntil Jimmy, finding no escape, said, "Yes'm. "

"Well, " she said with a bright smile. "It's nice to know that you do. Canyou do the multiplication table?"

"Yes'm. "

"Are you sure?"

"Yes'm. "

"Let's hear you. "

Jimmy looked around. "No, Jimmy, " said his teacher. "I want you to sayit. Go ahead. " And then as Jimmy hesitated still, she addressed theclass. "This is important, " she said. "Someday you will have to learn it, too. You will use it all through life and the earlier you learn it thebetter off you all will be. _Knowledge_, " she quoted proudly, "_ispower_! Now, Jimmy!"

Jimmy began with two-times-two and worked his way through the long tableto the twelves. When he finished, his teacher appointed one of thebetter-behaved children to watch the class. "Jimmy, " she said, "I'm goingto see if we can't put you up in the next grade. You don't belong here. Come along. "

They went to the principal's office. "Mr. Whitworth, " said Jimmy'steacher, "I have a young genius in my class. "

"A young genius, Miss Tilden?"

"Yes, indeed. He already knows the multiplication table. "

"You do, James? Where did you learn it?"

"My father taught me. "

Principal and teacher looked at each another. They said nothing but theywere both recalling stories and rumors about the brilliance of hisparents. The accident and death had not escaped notice. 

"What else did they teach you, James?" asked Mr. Whitworth. "To read andwrite, of course?"

"Yes sir. "

"History?"

Jimmy squirmed inwardly. He did not know how much to admit. "Some, " hesaid noncommittally. 

"When did Columbus discover America?"

"In Fourteen Ninety-Two. "

"Fine, " said Mr. Whitworth with a broad smile. He looked at Miss Tilden. "You're right. Young James should be advanced. " He looked down at JimmyHolden. "James, " he said, "we're going to place you in the Second Gradefor a tryout. Unless we're wrong, you'll stay and go up with them. "

Jimmy's entry into Second Grade brought a different attitude. He hadentered school quietly just for the sake of getting away from PaulBrennan. Now he was beginning to form a plan. If he could go from Firstto Second in a matter of three weeks, then, by carefully disclosing hisstore of knowledge bit-by-bit at the proper moment, he might be able togo through school in a short time. Moreover, he had tasted the firstfruits of recognition. He craved more. 

Somewhere was born the quaint notion that getting through school wouldautomatically make him an adult, with all attendant privileges. 

So Jimmy Holden dropped all pretense. His answers were as right as hecould make them. He dropped the covering mimickry of childish speechand took personal pride in using grammar as good as that of his teacher. 

This got him nothing. The Second Grade teacher was of the "progressive"school; she firmly believed that everybody, having been created equal, had to stay that way. She pointedly avoided giving Jimmy any opportunityto show his capability. 

He bided his time with little grace. 

He found his opportunity during the visit of a school superintendent. During this session Jimmy hooted when one of his fellows said thatColumbus proved the world was round. 

Angrily she demanded that Jimmy tell her who did prove it, and JimmyHolden replied that he didn't know whether it was Pythagoras or one ofhis followers, but he did know that it was one of the few things thatAristotle ever got right. This touched her on a sore spot. She admiredAristotle and couldn't bear to hear the great man accused of error. 

She started baiting Jimmy with loaded questions and stopped whenJimmy stated that Napoleon Bonaparte was responsible for the inventionof canned food, the adoption of the metric system, and the developmentof the semaphore telegraph. This stopped all proceedings until Jimmyhimself found the references in the Britannica. That little feat ofresearch-reference impressed the visiting superintendent. Jimmy Holdenwas jumped into Third Grade. 

Convinced that he was on the right trolley, Jimmy proceeded to plunge inwith both feet. Third Grade Teacher helped. Within a week he was beingcalled upon to aid the laggards. He stood out like a lighthouse; he wasthe one who could supply the right answers when the class was stumped. His teacher soon began to take a delight in belaboring the class for aminute before turning to Jimmy for the answer. Heaven forgive him, Jimmyenjoyed it. He began to hold back slyly, like a comedian building up thetension before a punch-line. 

His classmates began to call him "old know-it-all. " Jimmy did not realizethat it was their resentment speaking. He accepted it as deference to hissuperior knowledge. The fact that he was not a part of their playtimelife did not bother him one iota. He knew very well that his size alonewould cut him out of the rough and heavy games of his classmates; he didnot know that he was cut out of their games because they disliked him. 

As time wore on, some of the rougher ones changed his nickname from"know-it-all" to "teacher's pet"; one of them used rougher languagestill. To this Jimmy replied in terms he'd learned from Jake Caslow'sgutters. All that saved him from a beating was his size; even the oneswho disliked him would not stand for the bully's beating up a smallerchild. 

But in other ways they picked on him. Jimmy reasoned out his ownrelationship between intelligence and violence. He had yet to learn thepsychology of vandalism--but he was experiencing it. 

Finding no enjoyment out of play periods, Jimmy took to staying in. Thepermissive school encouraged it; if Jimmy Holden preferred to tinker witha typewriter instead of playing noisy games, his teacher saw no wrong init--for his Third Grade teacher was something of an intellectual herself. 

In April, one week after his sixth birthday, Jimmy Holden was jumpedagain. 

Jimmy entered Fourth Grade to find that his fame had gone before him; hewas received with sullen glances and turned backs. 

But he did not care. For his birthday, he received a typewriter from PaulBrennan. Brennan never found out that the note suggesting it from Jimmy'sThird Grade teacher had been written after Jimmy's prompting. 

So while other children played, Jimmy wrote. 

He was not immediately successful. His first several stories werereturned; but eventually he drew a winner and a check. Armed withsuperior knowledge, Jimmy mailed it to a bank that was strong inadvertising "mail-order" banking. With his first check he opened apay-by-the-item, no-minimum-balance checking account. 

Gradually his batting average went up, but there were enough returnedrejections to make Paul Brennan view Jimmy's literary effort with quietamusement. Still, slowly and in secret, Jimmy built up his bank balanceby twenties, fifties, an occasional hundred. 

For above everything, by now Jimmy knew that he could not go on throughschool as he'd planned. 

If his entry into Fourth Grade had been against scowls and resentmentfrom his classmates, Fifth and Sixth would be more so. Eventually the daywould come when he would be held back. He was already mingling withchildren far beyond his size. The same permissive school that graduateddolts so that their stupid personalities wouldn't be warped would keephim back by virtue of the same idiotic reasoning. 

He laid his plans well. He covered his absence from school one morningand thereby gained six free hours to start going about his own businessbefore his absence could be noticed. 

This was his third escape. He prayed that it would be permanent. 

BOOK TWO:

THE HERMIT

CHAPTER SEVEN

Seventy-five miles south of Chicago there is a whistle-stop calledShipmont. (No ship has ever been anywhere near it; neither has amountain. ) It lives because of a small college; the college, in turn, owes its maintenance to an installation of great interest to the AtomicEnergy Commission. 

Shipmont is served by two trains a day--which stop only when thereis a passenger to get on or off, which isn't often. These passengers, generally speaking, are oddballs carrying attaché cases or eager youngmen carrying miniature slide rules. 

But on this day came a woman and a little girl. 

Their total visible possessions were two battered suitcases and onebattered trunk. The little girl was neatly dressed, in often-washed andmended clothing; she carried a small covered basket, and there werebreadcrumbs visible on the lid. She looked bewildered, shy andfrightened. She was. 

The mother was thirty, though there were lines of worry on her foreheadand around her eyes that made her look older. She wore little makeup andher clothing had been bought for wear instead of for looks. She lookedaround, leaned absently down to pat the little girl and straightened asthe station-master came slowly out. 

"Need anything, ma'am?" He was pleasant enough. Janet Bagley appreciatedthat; life had not been entirely pleasant for her for some years. 

"I need a taxicab, if there is one. "

"There is. I run it after the train gets in for them as ain't met. You'renot goin' to the college?" He pronounced it "collitch. "

Janet Bagley shook her head and took a piece of paper from her bag. "Mr. Charles Maxwell, Rural Route Fifty-three, Martin's Hill Road, " she read. Her daughter began to whimper. 

The station-master frowned. "Hum, " he said, "that's the Herm--er, d'youknow him?"

Mrs. Bagley said: "I've never met him. What kind of a man is he?"

That was the sort of question the station-master appreciated. His job wasneither demanding nor exciting; an opportunity to talk was worth having. He said cheerfully, "Why, I don't rightly know, ma'am. Nobody's ever seenhim. "

"Nobody?"

"Nope. Nobody. Does everything by mail. "

"My goodness, what's the matter with him?"

"Don't rightly know, ma'am. Story is he was once a professor and got insome kind of big explosion. Burned the hide off'n his face and scarred uphis hands something turrible, so he don't want to show himself. Rentedthe house by mail, pays his rent by mail. Orders stuff by mail. Mostlynot real U-nited States Mail, y'know, because we don't mind dropping offa note to someone in town. I'm the local mailman, too. So when I find anote to Herby Wharton, the fellow that owns the general store, I drop itoff. Margie Clark over at the bank says he writes. Gets checks from NewYork from publishing companies. " The station-master looked around as ifhe were looking for Soviet spies. "He's a scientist, all right. He'sdoin' something important and hush-hush up there. Lots and lots of boxesand packin' cases I've delivered up there from places like CentralScientific and Labotory Supply Company. Must be a smart feller. Youvisitin' him?"

"Well, he hired me for housekeeper. By mail. " Mrs. Bagley looked puzzledand concerned. 

Little Martha began to cry. 

"It'll be all right, " said the station-master soothingly. "You keep youreye open, " he said to Mrs. Bagley. "Iff'n you see anything out of line, you come right back and me and the missus will give you a lift. But he'sall right. Nothin' goin' on up there that I know of. Fred Riordan--he'sthe sheriff--has watched the place for days and days and it's alwaysquiet. No visitors. No nothin'. Know what I think? I think he'sexperimenting with something to take away the burn scars. That's whutI think. Well, hop in and I'll drive you out there. "

"Is it going to cost much?"

"Nothin' this trip. We'll charge it to the U-nited States Mail. Got apackage goin' out. Was waitin' for something else to go along with it, but you're here and we can count that. This way to the only taxicabservice in Shipmont. "

The place looked deserted. It was a shabby old clapboard house; thearchitecture of the prosperous farmer of seventy-five years ago. Thegrounds were spacious but the space was filled with scrub weeds. Apicket fence surrounded the weeds with uncertain security. Thewindows--those that could be seen, that is--were dirty enough to preventseeing inside with clarity, and what transparency there was left wascovered by curtains. The walk up the "lawn" was flagstone with crabgrassbetween the stones. 

The station-master unshipped the small trunk and stood it just inside thefence. He parked the suitcases beside it. "Never go any farther thanthis, " he explained. "So far's I know, you're the first person to everhead up thet walk to the front door. "

Mrs. Bagley rapped on the door. It opened almost instantly. 

"I'm--" then Mrs. Bagley dropped her eyes to the proper level. To the ladwho was standing there she said, "I'm Mrs. Bagley. Your father--a Mr. Charles Maxwell is expecting me. "

"Come in, " said Jimmy Holden. "Mr. Maxwell--well, he isn't my father. Hesent me to let you in. "

Mrs. Bagley entered and dropped her suitcases in the front hall. Marthaheld back behind her mother's skirt. Jimmy closed the door and locked itcarefully, but left the key in the keyhole with a gesture that Mrs. Bagley could not mistake. "Please come in here and sit down, " said JamesHolden. "Relax a moment. " He turned to look at the girl. He smiled ather, but she cowered behind her mother's skirt as if she wanted to buryher face but was afraid to lose sight of what was going on around her. 

"What's your name?" asked James. 

She retreated, hiding most of her face. Mrs. Bagley stroked her hair andsaid, "Now, Martha, come on. Tell the little boy your name. "

Purely as a matter of personal pride, James Holden objected to the"little boy" but he kept his peace because he knew that at eight yearsold he was still a little boy. In a soothing way, James said, "Come onout, Martha. I'll show you some girl-type toys we've got. "

The girl's head emerged slowly, "I'm Martha Bagley, " she announced. 

"How old are you?"

"I'm seven. "

"I'm eight, " stated James. "Come on. "

Mrs. Bagley looked around. She saw that the dirt on the windows was allon the outside. The inside was clean. So was the room. So were thecurtains. The room needed a dusting--a most thorough dusting. It had beengiven a haphazard lick-and-a-promise cleanup not too long ago, but thecleanup before that had been as desultory as the last, and without adoubt the one before and the one before that had been of the same sort ofhalf-hearted cleaning. As a woman and a housekeeper, Mrs. Bagley foundthe room a bit strange. 

The furniture caught her eye first. A standard open bookcase, a low sofa, a very low cocktail-type table. The chair she stood beside was standardlooking, so was the big easy chair opposite. Yet she felt large in theroom despite its old-fashioned high ceiling. There were several lowfootstools in the room; ungraceful things that were obviously woodenboxes covered with padding and leatherette. The straight chair beside herhad been lowered; the bottom rung between the legs was almost on thefloor. 

She realized why she felt big. The furniture in the room had all been cutdown. 

She continued to look. The strangeness continued to bother her and sherealized that there were no ash trays; there was none of the usualclutter of things that a family drops in their tracks. It was a roomfashioned for a small person to live in but it wasn't lived-in. 

The lack of hard cleanliness did not bother hervery much. There had beenan effort here, and the fact that this Charles Maxwell was hiring ahousekeeper was in itself a statement that the gentleman knew that heneeded one. It was odd, but it wasn't ominous. 

She shook her daughter gently and said, "Come on, Martha. Let's take alook at these girl-type toys. "

James led them through a short hallway, turned left at the first door, and then stood aside to give them a full view of the room. It was aplayroom for a girl. It was cleaner than the living room, and as--well, untouched. It had been furnished with girl-toys that some catalog"recommended as suitable for a girl of seven. "

The profusion of toys overwhelmed little Martha. She stood just inside ofthe door with her eyes wide, glancing back and forth. She took one slowstep forward, then another. Then she quickened. She moved through theroom looking, then putting out a slow, hesitant hand to touch verygently. Tense, as if she were waiting for the warning not to touch, Martha finally caressed the hair of a baby doll. 

Mrs. Bagley smiled. "I'll have a time prying her loose from here, " shesaid. 

James nodded his head. "Let her amuse herself for a bit, " he said. "WithMartha occupied, you can give your attention to a more delicate matter. "

Mrs. Bagley forgot that she was addressing an eight-year-old boy. Hismanner and his speech bemused her. "Yes, " she said. "I do want to getthis settled with your mysterious Charles Maxwell. Do you expect himdown, or shall I go upstairs--?"

"This may come as a shock, Mrs. Bagley, but Charles Maxwell isn't here. "

"Isn't here?" she echoed, in a tone of voice that clearly indicated thatshe had heard the words but hadn't really grasped their full meaning. "Hewon't be gone long, will he?"

James watched her covertly, then said in a matter-of-fact voice, "He leftyou a letter. "

"Letter?"

"He was called away on some urgent business. "

"But--"

"Please read the letter. It explains everything. "

He handed her an envelope addressed to "Mrs. Janet Bagley. " She lookedat it from both sides, in the womanlike process of trying to divine itscontents instead of opening it. She looked at James, but James satstolidly waiting. Mrs. Bagley was going to get no more information fromhim until she read that letter, and James was prepared to sit it outuntil she did. It placed Mrs. Bagley in the awkward position of havingto decide what to do next. Then the muffled sound of little-girl crooningcame from the distant room. That brought the realization that as odd asthis household was, it was a _home_. Mrs. Bagley delayed no further. Sheopened the letter and read:

 My Dear Mrs. Bagley:

 I deeply regret that I am not there to greet you, but it was not possible. However, please understand that insofar as I am concerned, you were hired and have been drawing your salary from the date that I forwarded railroad fare and traveling expenses. Any face-to-face meeting is no more than a pleasantry, a formal introduction. It must not be considered in any way connected with the thought of a "Final Interview" or the process of "Closing the Deal. "

 Please carry on as if you had been in charge long before I departed, or--considering my hermitlike habits--the way you would have carried on if I had not departed, but instead was still upstairs and hard at work with most definite orders that I was not to be disturbed for anything less important than total, personal disaster. 

 I can offer you a word of explanation about young James. You will find him extraordinarily competent for a youngster of eight years. Were he less competent, I might have delayed my departure long enough to pass him literally from my supervision to yours. However, James is quite capable of taking care of himself; this fact you will appreciate fully long before you and I meet face-to-face. 

 In the meantime, remember that our letters and the other references acquaint us with one another far better than a few short hours of personal contact. 

 Sincerely, Charles Maxwell

"Well!" said Mrs. Bagley. "I don't know what to say. "

Jimmy smiled. "You don't have to say anything, " he said. 

Mrs. Bagley looked at the youngster. "I don't think I like your Mr. Maxwell, " she said. 

"Why not?"

"He's practically shanghaied me here. He knows very well that I couldn'tpossibly leave you here all alone, no matter how I disliked thesituation. He's practically forced me to stay. "

James suppressed a smile. He said, "Mrs. Bagley, the way the trains runin and out of Shipmont, you're stuck for an overnight stay in any case. "

"You don't seem to be perturbed. "

"I'm not, " he said. 

Mrs. Bagley looked at James carefully. His size; his physique wasprecisely that of the eight-year-old boy. There was nothing malformed norout-of-proportion; yet he spoke with an adult air of confidence. 

"I am, " she admitted. 

"Perturbed? You needn't be, " he said. "You've got to remember thatwriters are an odd lot. They don't conform. They don't punch time-clocks. They boast of having written a novel in three weeks but they don'tmention the fact that they sat around drinking beer for six monthsplotting it. "

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that Maxwell sees nothing wrong in attending to his own affairsand expecting you to attend to yours. "

"But what shall I do?"

James smiled. "First, take a look around the house and satisfy yourself. You'll find the third floor shut off; the rooms up there are Maxwell's, and no one goes in but him. My bedroom is the big one in the front of thesecond floor. Pick yourself a room or a suite of rooms or move in allover the rest of the house. Build yourself a cup of tea and relax. Do ashe says: Act as if you'd arrived before he took off, that you'd met andagreed verbally to do what you've already agreed to do by letter. Look atit from his point of view. "

"What is his point of view?"

"He's a writer. He rented this house by mail. He banks by mail and shopsby mail and makes his living by writing. Don't be surprised when he hiresa housekeeper by mail and hands her the responsibility in writing. Helives by the written word. "

Mrs. Bagley said, "In other words, the fact that he offered me a job inwriting and I took it in writing--?"

"Writing, " said James Holden soberly, "was invented for the expresspurpose of recording an agreement between two men in a permanent formthat could be read by other men. The whole world runs on the theory thatno one turns a hand until names are signed to written contracts--and hereyou sit, not happy because you weren't contracted-for by a personalchit-chat and a handshake. "

Mrs. Bagley was taken aback slightly by this rather pointed criticism. What hurt was the fact that, generally speaking, it was true andespecially the way he put it. The young man was too blunt, tooout-spokenly direct. Obviously he needed someone around the place whowasn't the self-centered writer-type. And, Mrs. Bagley admitted toherself, there certainly was no evidence of evil-doing here. 

No matter what, Charles Maxwell had neatly trapped her into staying byturning her own maternal responsibility against her. 

"I'll get my bags, " she said. 

James Holden took a deep breath. He'd won this hurdle, so far so good. Now for the next!

Mrs. Bagley found life rather unhurried in the days that followed. Sherelaxed and tried to evaluate James Holden. To her unwarned mind, the boywas quite a puzzle. 

There was no doubt about his eight years, except that he did not whoopand holler with the aimlessness of the standard eight-year-old boy. Hisvocabulary was far ahead of the eight-year-old and his speech was inadult grammar rather than halting. It was, she supposed, due to hisconstant adult company; children denied their contemporaries forplaymates often take on attitudes beyond their years. Still, it was a biton the too-superior side to please her. It was as if he were the resultof over-indulgent parents who'd committed the mistake of letting thechild know that their whole universe revolved about him. 

Yet Maxwell's letters said that he was motherless, that he was notMaxwell's son. This indicated a probable history of broken homes andremarriages. Mrs. Bagley thought the problem over and gave it up. Itwas a home. 

Things went on. They started warily but smoothly at first with Mrs. Bagley asking almost incessantly whether Mr. Maxwell would approve ofthis or that and should she do this or the other and, phrased cleverly, indicated that she would take the word of young James for the time beingbut there would be evil sputterings in the fireplace if the programsapproved by young James Holden were not wholly endorsed by Mr. CharlesMaxwell. 

At the end of the first week, supplies were beginning to run short andstill there was no sign of any return of the missing Mr. Maxwell. Withsome misgiving, Mrs. Bagley broached the subject of shopping to James. The youngster favored Mrs. Bagley with another smile. 

"Yes, " he said calmly. "Just a minute. " And he disappeared upstairs tofetch another envelope. Inside was a second letter which read:

 My Dear Mrs. Bagley:

 Attached you will find letters addressed to several of the local merchants in Shipmont, explaining your status as my housekeeper and directing them to honor your purchases against my accounts. Believe me, they recognize my signature despite the fact that they might not recognize me! There should be no difficulty. I'd suggest, however, that you start a savings account at the local bank with the enclosed salary check. You have no idea how much weight the local banker carries in his character-reference of folks with a savings account. 

 Otherwise, I trust things are pleasant. 

 Sincerely, Charles Maxwell. 

"Things, " she mused aloud, "are pleasant enough. "

James nodded. "Good, " he said. "You're satisfied, then?"

Mrs. Bagley smiled at him wistfully. "As they go, " she said, "I'msatisfied. Lord knows, you're no great bother, James, and I'll be mosthappy to tell Mr. Maxwell so when he returns. "

James nodded. "You're not concerned over Maxwell, are you?"

She sobered. "Yes, " she said in a whisper. "Yes, I am. I'm afraid thathe'll change things, that he'll not approve of Martha, or the way dinneris made, or my habits in dishwashing or bedmaking or marketing orsomething that will--well, put me right in the role of a paidchambermaid, a servant, a menial with no more to say about the runningof the house, once he returns. "

James Holden hesitated, thought, then smiled. 

"Mrs. Bagley, " he said apologetically, "I've thrown you a lot of curves. I hope you won't mind one more. "

The woman frowned. James said hurriedly, "Oh, it's nothing bad, believeme. I mean--Well, you'll have to judge for yourself. 

"You see, Mrs. Bagley, " he said earnestly, "there isn't any CharlesMaxwell. "

 * * * * *

Janet Bagley, with the look of a stricken animal, sat down heavily. Therewere two thoughts suddenly in her mind: _Now I've got to leave_, and, _But I can't leave_. 

She sat looking at the boy, trying to make sense of what he had said. Mrs. Bagley was a young woman, but she had lived a demanding andunrelenting life; her husband dead, her finances calamitous, a baby tofeed and raise ... There had been enough trouble in her life and shesought no more. 

But she was also a woman of some strength of character. 

Janet Bagley had not been able to afford much joy, but when things wereat their worst she had not wept. She had been calm. She had taken whatinexpensive pleasures she could secure--the health of her daughter, thestrength of her arms to earn a living, the cunning of her mind to make adollar do the work of five. She had learned that there was no bargainthat was not worth investigating; the shoddiest goods were worth owningat a price; the least attractive prospect had to be faced and understood, for any commodity becomes a bargain when the price is right. There wasno room for laziness or indulgence in her life. There was also no roomfor panic. 

So Janet Bagley thought for a moment, and then said: "Tell me what you'retalking about, James. "

James Holden said immediately: "I am Charles Maxwell. That is, 'CharlesMaxwell' is a pen name. He has no other existence. "

"But--"

"But it's true, Mrs. Bagley, " the boy said earnestly. "I'm only eightyears old, but I happen to be earning my own living--as a writer, underthe name of, among others, Charles Maxwell. Perhaps you've looked up someof the 'Charles Maxwell' books? If so, you may have seen some of the bookreviews that were quoted on the jackets--I remember one that said thatCharles Maxwell writes as though he himself were a boy, with theeducation of an adult. Well, that's the fact of the case. "

Mrs. Bagley said slowly, "But I did look Mr. Max--I mean, I did look youup. There was a complete biographical sketch in _Woman's Life_. Thirty-one years old, I remember. "

"I know. I wrote it. It too was fiction. "

"You wrote--but why?"

"Because I was asked to write it, " said James. 

"But, well--what I mean, is--Just who is Mr. Maxwell? The man at thestation said something about a hermit, but--"

"The Hermit of Martin's Hill is a convenient character carefully preparedto explain what might have looked like a very odd household, " said JamesHolden. "Charles Maxwell, the Hermit, does not exist except in the mindsof the neighbors and the editors of several magazines, and of course, thereaders of those pages. "

"But he wrote me himself. " The bewildered woman paused. 

"That's right, Mrs. Bagley. There's absolutely nothing illegal about awriter's using a pen name. Absolutely nothing. Some writers become sowell-known by their pseudonym that they answer when someone calls them. So long as the writer isn't wanted by the F. B. I. For some heinous crime, and so long as he can unscramble the gobbledygook on Form 1040, stay outof trouble, pay his rent, and make his regular contributions to SocialSecurity, nobody cares what name he uses. "

"But where are your parents? Have you no friends? No legal guardian? Whohandles your business affairs?"

James said in a flat tone of recital, "My parents are dead. What friendsand family I have, want to turn me over to my legal guardian. My legalguardian is the murderer of my parents and the would-have-been murdererof me if I hadn't been lucky. Someday I shall prove it. And I handle myaffairs myself, by mail, as you well know. I placed the advertisement, wrote the letters of reply, wrote those letters that answered specificquestions and asked others, and I wrote the check that you cashed inorder to buy your railroad ticket, Mrs. Bagley. No, don't worry. It'sgood. "

Mrs. Bagley tried to digest all that and failed. She returned to thecentral point. "But you're a minor--"

"I am, " admitted James Holden. "But you accepted my checks, your bankaccepted my checks, and they've been honored by the clearing houses. Myown bank has been accepting them for a couple of years now. It willcontinue to be that way until something goes wrong and I'm found out. I'mtaking every precaution that nothing goes wrong. "

"Still--"

"Mrs. Bagley, look at me. I am precisely what I seem to be. I am a youngmale human being, eight years old, possessed of a good command of theEnglish language and an education superior to the schooling of anyhigh-school graduate. It is true that I am an infant in the eyes of thelaw, so I have not the right to hold the ear of the law long enough toexplain my competence. "

"But--"

"Listen a moment, " insisted James. "You can't hope to hear it all in oneshort afternoon. It may take weeks before you fully understand. "

"You assume that I'll stay, then?"

James smiled. Not the wide open, simple smile of youth but the knowingsmile of someone pleased with the success of his own plans. "Mrs. Bagley, of the many replies to my advertisement, yours was selected because youare in a near-desperate position. My advertisement must have soundedtailor-made to fit your case; a young widow to work as residenthousekeeper, child of preschool or early school age welcome. Well, Mrs. Bagley, your qualifications are tailor-made for me, too. You are in need, and I can give you what you need--a living salary, a home for you andyour daughter, and for your daughter an education that will far transcendany that you could ever provide for her. "

"And how do you intend to make that come to pass?"

"Mrs. Bagley, at the present time there are only two people alive whoknow the answer to that question. I am one of them. The other is myso-called legal 'guardian' who would be most happy to guard me right outof my real secret. You will be the third person alive to know that mymother and father built a machine that produces the same deeply-inlaidmemory-track of information as many months of learning-by-repetition. With that machine, I absorbed the information available to a high-schoolstudent before I was five. I am rebuilding that machine now from plansand specifications drilled into my brain by my father. When it iscomplete, I intend to become the best informed person in the world. "

"That isn't right, " breathed Mrs. Bagley. 

"Isn't it?" asked James seriously. "Isn't it right? Is it wrong, when atthe present time it takes a man until he is almost thirty years oldbefore he can say that his education is complete?"

"Well, I suppose you're right. "

James eyed Mrs. Bagley carefully. He said softly, "Mrs. Bagley, tell me, would you give Martha a college education if you had--or will you if youhave at the time--the wherewithal to provide it?"

"Of course. "

"You have it here, " said James. "So long as you stay to protect it. "

"But won't it make--?" her voice trailed away uncertainly. 

"A little intellectual monster out of her?" laughed the boy. "Maybe. Maybe I am, too. On the other hand it might make a brilliant woman out ofher. She might be a doctor if she has the capacity of a brilliant doctor. My father's machine is no monster-maker, Mrs. Bagley. With it a personcould memorize the Britannica. And from the Britannica that person wouldlearn that there is much good in the world and also that there is richreward for being a part of that capacity for good. "

"I seem to have been outmaneuvered, " said Mrs. Bagley with a worriedfrown. 

James smiled. "Not at all, " he said. "It was just a matter of findingsomeone who wanted desperately to have what I wanted to give, and ofcourse overcoming the natural adult reluctance to admit that anybodymy size and age can operate on grown-up terms. "

"You sound so sure of yourself. "

"I am sure of myself. And one of the more important things in life is tounderstand one's limitations. "

"But couldn't you convince them--?"

"One--you--I can convince. Maybe another, later. But if I tackle thegreat American public, I'm licked by statistics. My guess is that thereis one brand-new United States citizen born every ten seconds. It takesme longer than ten seconds to convince someone, that I know what I'mtalking about. But so long as I have an accepted adult out front, runningthe store, I don't have to do anything but sit backstage, run the hiddenstrings, and wait until my period of growth provides me with a staturethat won't demand any explanation. "

From the playroom, Martha came running. "Mummy! Mummy!" she cried in ashrill voice filled with the strident tones of alarm, "Dolly's sick andI can't leave her!"

Mrs. Bagley folded her daughter in her arms. "We won't leave, " she said. "We're staying. "

James Holden nodded with satisfaction, but one thing he realized then andthere: He simply had to rush the completion of his father's machine. 

He could not stand the simpering prattle of Martha Bagley's playgames. 

CHAPTER EIGHT

The arrival of Mrs. Bagley changed James Holden's way of life far morethan he'd expected. His basic idea had been to free himself from thehours of dishwashing, bedmaking, dusting, cleaning and straighteningand from the irking chore of planning his meals far enough ahead toobtain sustenance either through mail or carried note. He gave up hishaphazard chores readily. Mrs. Bagley's menus often served him dishesthat he wouldn't have given house-room; but he also enjoyed many mealsthat he could not or would not have taken the time to prepare. 

He did have some faint notion that being freed from the household toilwould allow him sixteen or eighteen hours at the typewriter, but he wasnot greatly dismayed to find that this did not work. 

When he wrote himself out, he relaxed by reading, or sitting quietlyplanning his next piece. Even that did not fill his entire day. To takesome advantage of his time, James began to indulge in talk-fests withMrs. Bagley. 

These were informative. He was learning from her how the outside worldwas run, from one who had no close association with his own former life. Mrs. Bagley was by no means well-informed on all sides of life, but shedid have her opinions and her experiences and a fair idea of how thingswent on in her own level. And, of course, James had made this choicebecause of the girl. He wanted a companion of his own age. Regardless ofwhat Mrs. Bagley really thought of this matter of rapid education, Jamesproposed to use it on Martha. That would give him a companion of his ownlike, they would come closer to understanding one another than he couldever hope to find understanding elsewhere. 

So he talked and played with Martha in his moments of relaxation. And hefound her grasp of life completely unreal. 

James could not get through to her. He could not make her stopplay-acting in everything that she did not ignore completely. It worriedhim. 

With the arrival of summer, James and Martha played outside in the freshair. They made a few shopping excursions into town, walking the mile andmore by taking their time, and returning with their shopping load in thestation-master's taxicab mail car. But on these expeditions, James hungclose to Martha lest her babbling prattle start an unwelcome line ofthought. She never did it, but James was forever on edge. 

This source of possible danger drove him hard. The machine that wasgrowing in a mare's-nest on the second floor began to evolve faster. 

James Holden's work was a strangely crude efficiency. The prototype hadbeen built by his father bit by bit and step by step as its designdemanded. Sections were added as needed, and other sections believedneeded were abandoned as the research showed them unnecessary. LouisHolden had been a fine instrumentation engineer, but his first modelswere hay-wired in the breadboard form. James copied his father'swork--including his father's casual breadboard style. And he added someinefficiencies of his own. 

Furthermore, James was not strong enough to lift the heavier assembliesinto place. James parked the parts wherever they would sit. 

To Mrs. Bagley, the whole thing was bizarre and unreasonable. Given heropinion, with no other evidence, she would have rejected the idea atonce. She simply did not understand anything of a technical nature. 

One day she bluntly asked him how he knew what he was doing. 

James grinned. "I really _don't_ know what I'm doing, " he admitted. "I'monly following some very explicit directions. If I knew the pure theoryof my father's machine I could not design the instrumentation that wouldmake it work. But I can build a reproduction of my father's machine fromthe directions. "

"How can that be?"

James stopped working and sat on a packing case. "If you bought alawn-mower, " he said, "it might come neatly packed in a little box withall the parts nested in cardboard formers and all the little nuts andbolts packed in a bag. There would be a set of assembly directions, written in such a way as to explain to anybody who can read that Part Ais fastened to Bracket B using Bolt C, Lockwasher D, and Nut E. Myfather's one and only recognition of the dangers of the unforeseeablefuture was to drill deep in my brain these directions. For instance, " andhe pointed to a boxed device, "that thing is an infra-low frequencyamplifier. Now, I haven't much more than a faint glimmer of what thething is and how it differs from a standard amplifier, but I know that itmust be built precisely thus-and-so, and finally it must be fitted intothe machine per instructions. Look, Mrs. Bagley. " James picked up arecently-received package, swept a place clear on the packing case anddumped it out. It disgorged several paper bags of parts, some largeplates and a box. He handed her a booklet. "Try it yourself, " he said. "That's a piece of test equipment made in kit form by a commercial outfitin Michigan. Follow those directions and build it for me. "

"But I don't know anything about this sort of thing. "

"You can read, " said James with a complete lack of respect. He turnedback to his own work, leaving Mrs. Bagley leafing her way through theassembly manual. 

To the woman it was meaningless. But as she read, a secondary thoughtrose in her mind. James was building this devilish-looking nightmare, andhe had every intention of using it on her daughter! She accepted withoutunderstanding the fact that James Holden's superior education had come ofsuch a machine--but it had been a machine built by a competent mechanic. She stole a look at James. The anomaly puzzled her. 

When the lad talked, his size and even the thin boyish voice were negatedby the intelligence of his words, the size of his vocabulary, the clarityof his statements. Now that he was silent, he became no more than aneight-year-old lad who could not possibly be doing anything constructivewith this mad array of equipment. The messiness of the place merely madethe madness of the whole program seem worse. 

But she turned back to her booklet. Maybe James was right. If she couldassemble this doodad without knowing the first principle of itsoperation, without even knowing from the name what the thing did, thenshe might be willing to admit that--messy as it looked--the machine couldbe reconstructed. 

Trapped by her own interest, Mrs. Bagley pitched in. 

They took a week off to rearrange the place. They built wooden shelves tohold the parts in better order. These were by no means the work of acarpenter, for Mrs. Bagley's aim with a saw was haphazard, and herbatting average with a hammer was about . 470; but James lacked thestrength, so the construction job was hers. Crude as it was, the placelooked less like a junkshop when they were done. Work resumed on theassembly of the educator. 

Of course the writing suffered. 

The budget ran low. James was forced to abandon the project for histypewriter. He drove himself hard, fretting and worrying himself into astew time after time. And then as August approached, Nature stepped in toadd more disorder. 

James entered a "period of growth. " In three weeks he gained two inches. 

His muscles, his bones and his nervous system ceased to coordinate. Hebecame clumsy. His handwriting underwent a change, so severe that Jameshad to practically forge his own signature of Charles Maxwell. To avoidtrouble he stopped the practice of writing individual checks for thebills and transferred a block sum of money to an operating account inMrs. Bagley's name. 

His fine regimen went to pieces. 

He embarked on a haphazard program of sleeping, eating and working at oddhours, and his appetite became positively voracious. He wanted what hewanted when he wanted it, even if it were the middle of the night. Hepouted and groused when he didn't get it. In calmer moments he hatedhimself for these tantrums, but no amount of self-rationalization stoppedthem. 

During this period, James was by no means an efficient youngster. Hiswriting suffered the ills of both his period of growth and his upsetstate of mind. His fingers failed to coordinate on his typewriter and hismanuscript copy turned out rough, with strikeovers, xxx-outs, and grossmistakes. The pile of discarded paper massed higher than his finishedcopy until Mrs. Bagley took over and began to retype his rough scriptfor him. 

His state of mind remained chaotic. 

Mrs. Bagley began to treat him with special care. She served him warmmilk and insisted that he rest. Finally she asked him why he drovehimself so hard. 

"We are approaching the end of summer, " he said, "and we are notprepared. "

"Prepared for what?"

They were relaxing in the living room, James fretting and Mrs. Bagleyseated, Martha Bagley asprawl on the floor turning the pages of acrayon-coloring book. "Look at us, " he said. "I am a boy of eight, yourdaughter is a girl of seven. By careful dress and action I could pass fora child one year younger, but that would still make me seven. Last summerwhen I was seven, I passed for six. "

"Yes, but--?"

"Mrs. Bagley, there are laws about compulsory education. Sooner or latersomeone is going to get very curious about us. "

"What do you intend to do about it?"

"That's the problem, " he said. "I don't really know. With a lot ofconcentrated effort I can probably enter school if I have to, and keep myeducation covered up. But Martha is another story. "

"I don't see--?" Mrs. Bagley bit her lip. 

"We can't permit her to attend school, " said James. 

"You shouldn't have advertised for a woman with a girl child!" said Mrs. Bagley. 

"Perhaps not. But I wanted someone of my own age and size around so thatwe can grow together. I'm a bit of a misfit until I'm granted the rightto use my education as I see fit. "

"And you hope to make Martha another misfit?"

"If you care to put it that way, " admitted James. "Someone has to start. Someday all kids will be educated with my machine and then there'll be nomisfits. "

"But until then--?"

"Mrs. Bagley, I am not worried about what is going to happen next year. Iam worried about what is going to happen next month. "

Mrs. Bagley sat and watched him for a moment. This boy was worried, shecould see that. But assuming that any part of his story was true--and itwas impossible to doubt it--he had ample cause. 

The past years had given Mrs. Bagley a hard shell because it was usefulfor survival; to keep herself and her child alive she had had to bepermanently alert for every threat. Clearly this was a threat. Martha wasinvolved. Martha's future was, at the least, bound to be affected by whatJames did. 

And the ties of blood and habit made Martha's future the firstconsideration in Janet Bagley's thoughts. 

But not the only consideration; for there is an in-born trait in thehuman race which demands that any helpless child should be helped. Jameswas hardly helpless; but he certainly was a child. It was easy to forgetit, talking to him--until something came up that the child could nothandle. 

Mrs. Bagley sighed. In a different tone she asked, "What did you do lastyear?"

"Played with Rags on the lawn, " James said promptly. "A boy and his dogis a perfectly normal sight--in the summer. Then, when school opened, Istayed in the house as much as I could. When I had to go out I tried tomake myself look younger. Short pants, dirty face. I don't think I couldget away with it this year. "

"I think you're right, " Mrs. Bagley admitted. "Well, suppose you could dowhat you wish this year? What would that be?"

James said: "I want to get my machine working. Then I want to use it onMartha. "

"On Martha! But--"

James said patiently: "It won't hurt her, Mrs. Bagley. There isn't anyother way. The first thing she needs is a good command of English. "

"English?" Mrs. Bagley hesitated, and was lost. After all, what was wrongwith the girl's learning proper speech?

"Martha is a child both physically and intellectually. She has beentalked to about 'right' and 'wrong' and she knows that 'telling thetruth' is right, but she doesn't recognize that talking about fairies isa misstatement of the truth. Question her carefully about how we live, and you'll get a fair approximation of the truth. "

"So?"

"But suppose someone asks Martha about the Hermit of Martin's Hill?"

"What do you fear?"

"We might play upon her make-believe stronger than we have. She play-actshis existence very well. But suppose someone asks her what he eats, orwhere he gets his exercise, or some other personal question. She hasn'tthe command of logic to improvise a convincing background. "

"But why should anybody ask such personal questions?" asked Mrs. Bagley. 

James said patiently: "To ask personal questions of an adult is 'prying'and is therefore considered improper and antisocial. To ask the samequestions of a child is proper and social. It indicates a polite interestin the world of the child. You and I, Mrs. Bagley, have a completepicture of the Hermit all prepared, and with our education we canimprovise plausible answers. I've hoped to finish my machine early enoughto provide Martha with the ability to do the same. "

"So what can we do?"

"About the only thing we can do is to hide, " said James. "Luckily, most of the business is conducted out of this place by mail. Writeletters to some boarding school situated a good many miles from here. Ask the usual routine questions about entering a seven-year-old girland an eight-year-old boy for one semester. Robert Holmes, ourpostmaster-taxicab driver-station-master, reads everything that isn'tsealed. He will read the addresses, and he will see replies and readtheir return address. "

"And then we'll pretend to send you and Martha to boarding school?"

James nodded. "Confinement is going to be difficult, but in this climatethe weather gets nasty early and that keeps people out of one another'shair. "

"But this station-master business--?"

"We've got to pull some wool over Robert's eyes, " said James. "Somehow, we've got to make it entirely plausible. You've got to take Martha and meaway and come back alone just as if we were in school. "

"We should have a car, " said Mrs. Bagley. 

"A car is one piece of hardware that I could never justify, " said James. "Nor, " he chuckled, "buy from a mail-order house because I couldn'taccept delivery. I bought furniture from Sears and had it deliveredaccording to mailed instructions. But I figured it better to have thefolks in Shipmont wondering why Charles Maxwell didn't own a car than tohave them puzzling why he owned one that never was used, nor even moved. Besides, a car--costs--"

Mrs. Bagley smiled with real satisfaction. "There, " she said, "I think Ican help. I can buy the car. "

James was startled. "But can you afford it?"

Mrs. Bagley nodded seriously. "James, " she said, "I've been scratchingout an existence on hard terms and I've had to make sure of tomorrow. Even when things were worst, I tried to put something away--some weeks itwas only a few pennies, sometimes nothing at all. But--well, I'm notafraid of tomorrow any more. "

James was oddly pleased. While he was trying to find a way to say it, Mrs. Bagley relieved him of the necessity. "It won't be a brand-newconvertible, " she warned. "But they tell me you can get something thatruns for two or three hundred dollars. Tim Fisher has some that lookabout right in his garage--and besides, " she said, clinching it, "itgives me a chance to give out a little more Maxwell and boarding-schoolpropaganda. "

CHAPTER NINE

The letter was a masterpiece of dissembling. It suggested, withoutpromising, that Charles Maxwell intended to send his young charge toboarding school along with his housekeeper's daughter. It asked theschool's advice and explained the deformity that made Charles Maxwell arecluse. The reply could hardly have been better if they'd penned itthemselves for the signature of the faculty advisor. It discussed thepros and cons of away-from-home schooling and went on at great length todiscuss the attitude of children and their upbringing amid strangesurroundings. It invited a long and inconclusive correspondence--justwhat James wanted. 

The supposed departure for school went off neatly, no one in the town ofShipmont was surprised when Mrs. Bagley turned up buying an automobile ofseveral years' vintage because this was a community where everybody hadone. 

The letters continued at the rate of one every two or three weeks. Theywere picked up by Mrs. Bagley who let it be known that these wereprogress reports. In reality, they were little tracts on the theory ofchild education. They kept up the correspondence for the information itcontained, and also because Mrs. Bagley enjoyed this contact with anouter world that contained adults. 

Meanwhile, James ended his spurt of growth and settled down. Work on hismachine continued when he could afford to buy the parts, and his writingsettled down into a comfortable channel once more. In his spare timeJames began to work on Martha's diction. 

Martha could not have been called a retarded child. Her trouble was lackof constant parental attention during her early years. With father goneand mother struggling to live, Martha had never overcome some of thebabytalk-diction faults. There was still a trace of the omitted 'B' hereand there. 'Y' was a difficult sound; the color of a lemon was "Lellow. "Martha's English construction still bore marks of the baby. "Do you haveto--" came out as "Does you has to--?"

James Holden's father had struggled in just this way through his earlyexperimental days, when he despaired of ever getting the infant James outof the baby-prattle stage. He could not force, he could not even coerce. All that his father could do was to watch quietly as baby James acquiredthe awareness of things. Then he could step in and supply the correctword-sound to name the object. In those early days the progress of JamesHolden was no greater than the progress of any other infant. HoldenSenior followed the theory of ciphers; no cryptologist can startunravelling a secret message until he is aware of the fact that somehidden message exists. No infant can be taught a language until someawareness tells the tiny brain that there is some definite connectionbetween sound and sight. 

 * * * * *

For the next few weeks James worked with Martha on her speech, and hatedit. So slow, so dreary! But it was necessary, he thought, to keep herfrom establishing any more permanent errors, so that when the machine wasready there would be at least a blank slate to write on, not one allscribbled over with mistakes. 

Time passed; the weather grew colder; the machine spread its scatteredparts over his workroom. 

Janet Bagley knew that the machine was growing, but it had not occurredto her that it would be finished. She had grown accustomed to her life onMartin's Hill. By her standards, it was easy. She made three meals eachday, cleaned the rooms, hung curtains, sewed clothing for Martha andherself, did the shopping and had time enough left over to takeexcursions in her little car and keep her daughter out of mischief. Itwas pleasant. It was more than pleasant, it was safe. 

And then the machine was finished. 

Mrs. Bagley took a sandwich and a glass of milk to James and found himsitting on a chair, a heavy headset covering most of his skull, readingaloud from a textbook on electronic theory. 

Mrs. Bagley stopped at the door, unaccountably startled. 

James looked up and shut off his work. "It's finished, " he said withgrave pride. 

"All of it?"

"Well, " he said, pondering, "the basic part. It works. "

Mrs. Bagley looked at the scramble of equipment in the room as though itwere an enemy. It didn't look finished. It didn't even look safe. But shetrusted James, although she felt at that moment that she would grow oldand die before she understood why and how any collection of apparatuscould be functional and still be so untidy. "It--could teach me?"

"If you had something you want to memorize. "

"I'd like to memorize some of the pet recipes from my cookbook. "

"Get it, " directed James. 

She hesitated. "How does it work?" she wanted to know first. 

He countered with another question. "How do we memorize anything?"

She thought. "Why, by repeating and repeating and rehearsing andrehearsing. "

"Yes, " said James. "So this device does the repetition for you. Electromechanically. "

"But how?"

James smiled wistfully. "I can give you only a thumbnail sketch, " hesaid, "until I have had time to study the subjects that lead up to thefinal theory. "

"Goodness, " exclaimed Mrs. Bagley, "all I want is a brief idea. Iwouldn't understand the principles at all. "

"Well, then, my mother, as a cerebral surgeon, knew the anatomy of thehuman brain. My father, as an instrument-maker, designed and builtencephalographs. Together, they discovered that if the great waves of thebrain were filtered down and the extremely minute waves that ride on topof them were amplified, the pattern of these superfine waves went throughconvolutions peculiar to certain thoughts. Continued research refinedtheir discovery. 

"Now, the general theory is that the cells of the brain act sort of likea binary digital computer, with certain banks of cells operating to storesufficient bits of information to furnish a complete memory. In theprocess of memorization, individual cells become activated and linked bythe constant repetition. 

"Second, the brain within the skull is a prisoner, connected to the'outside' by the five standard sensory channels of sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell. Stimulate a channel, and the result is a certainwave-shape of electrical impulse that enters the brain and--sort of likethe key to a Yale lock--fits only one combination of cells. Or if noprevious memory is there, it starts its own new collection of cells tolinking and combining. When we repeat and repeat, we are deepening thegroove, so to speak. 

"Finally comes the Holden Machine. The helmet makes contact with theskull in those spots where the probes of the encephalograph are placed. When the brain is stimulated into thought, the brain waves are monitoredand recorded, amplified, and then fed back to the same brain-spots. Notonce, but multifold, like the vibration of a reed or violin string. Thecircuit that accepts signals, amplifies them, returns them to the sameset of terminals, and causes them to be repeated several hundred timesper millisecond without actually ringing or oscillating is the realresearch secret of the machine. My father's secret and now mine. "

"And how do we use it?"

"You want to memorize a list of ingredients, " said James. "So you willput this helmet on your head with the cookbook in your hands. You willturn on the machine when you have read the part you want to memorize justto be sure of your material. Then, with the machine running, youcarefully read aloud the passage from your book. The vibrating amplifierin the machine monitors and records each electrical impulse, thenfurnishes it back to your brain as a successive series of repetitiousvibrations, each identical in shape and magnitude, just as if you hadactually read and re-read that list of stuff time and again. "

"And then I'll know it cold?"

James shook his head. "Then you'll be about as confused as you've everbeen. For several hours, none of it will make sense. You'll be thinkingthings like a 'cup of salt and a pinch of water, ' or maybe, 'sugar threeof mustard and two spoonthree teas. ' And then in a few hours all of thismish-mash will settle itself down into the proper serial arrangement; itwill fit the rest of your brain-memory-pattern comfortably. "

"Why?"

"I don't know. It has something to do with the same effect one gets outof studying. On Tuesday one can read a page of textbook and not grasp aword of it. Successive readings help only a little. Then in about a weekit all becomes quite clear, just as if the brain had sorted it and filedit logically among the other bits of information. Well, what about thatcookbook?"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Bagley, with the air of someone agreeing to have a toothpulled when it hasn't really started to hurt, "I'll get it. "

 * * * * *

James Holden allowed himself a few pleasant daydreams. The mostsatisfactory of all was one of himself pleading his own case before theblack-robed Justices of the Supreme Court, demolishing his detractorswith a flow of his brilliance and convincing them beyond any doubt thathe did indeed have the right to walk alone. That there be no question ofhis intellect, James proposed to use his machine to educate himself tocompletion. He would be the supreme student of the arts and the sciences, of law, language, and literature. He would know history and thehumanities, and the dreams and aims of the great philosophers andstatesmen, and he would even be able to quote in their own terms thedrives of the great dictators and some of the evil men so that he coulddraw and compare to show that he knew the difference between good andbad. 

But James Holden had no intention of sharing this limelight. 

His superb brilliance was to be compared to the average man's, not toanother one like him. He had the head start. He intended to keep it untilhe had succeeded in compelling the whole world to accept him with thefull status of a free adult. 

Then, under his guidance, he would permit the world-wide use of hismachine. 

His loneliness had forced him to revise that dream by the addition ofMartha Bagley; he needed a companion, contemporary, and foil. His mentalplaylet no longer closed with James Holden standing alone before theBench. Now it ended with Martha saying proudly, "James, I knew you coulddo it. "

Martha Bagley's brilliance would not conflict with his. He couldstay ahead of her forever. But he had no intention of allowing someexperienced adult to partake of this program of enforced education. Hewas, therefore, going to find himself some manner or means of preventingMrs. Bagley from running the gamut of all available information. 

James Holden evaluated all people in his own terms, he believed thateverybody was just as eager for knowledge as he was. 

So he was surprised to find that Mrs. Bagley's desire for extendededucation only included such information as would make her own immediatepersonal problems easier. Mrs. Bagley was the first one of the mass ofpeople James was destined to meet who not only did not know how or whythings worked, but further had no intention whatsoever of finding out. 

Instead of trying to monopolize James Holden's machine, Mrs. Bagley wassatisfied to learn a number of her pet recipes. After a day of thoughtshe added her social security number, blood type, some birthdays, dates, a few telephone numbers and her multiplication tables. She announced thatshe was satisfied. It solved James Holden's problem--and stunned himcompletely. 

But James had very little time to worry about Mrs. Bagley's attitude. Hefound his hands full with Martha. 

Martha played fey. Her actions and attitude baffled James, and evenconfused her mother. There was no way of really determining whether thegirl was scared to death of the machine itself, or whether she simplydecided to be difficult. And she uttered the proper replies with all ofthe promptness--and intelligence--of a ventriloquist's dummy:

"You don't want to be ignorant, do you?"

"No. "

"You want to be smart, like James, don't you?"

"Yes. "

"You know the machine won't hurt, don't you?"

"Yes. "

"Then let's try it just once, please?"

"No. "

Back to the beginning again. Martha would agree to absolutely anythingexcept the educator. 

Leaving the argument to Mrs. Bagley, James sat down angrily with a book. He was so completely frustrated that he couldn't read, but he sat thereleafing the pages slowly and making a determined show of not lifting hishead. 

Mrs. Bagley went on for another hour before she reached the end of herown patience. She stood up almost rigid with anger. James never knew howclose Mrs. Bagley was to making use of a hairbrush on her daughter'sbottom. But Mrs. Bagley also realized that Martha had to go into thisprocess willing to cooperate. So, instead of physical punishment, sheissued a dictum:

"You'll go to your room and stay there until you're willing!"

And at that point Martha ceased being stubborn and began playing games. 

She permitted herself to be led to the chair, and then went through aroutine of skittishness, turning her head and squirming incessantly, which made it impossible for James to place the headset properly. Thiswent on until he stalked away and sat down again. Immediately Martha satlike a statue. But as soon as James reached for the little screws thatadjusted the electrodes, Martha started to giggle and squirm. He stalkedaway and sat through another session between Martha and her mother. 

Late in the afternoon James succeeded in getting her to the machine;Martha uttered a sentence without punctuating it with little giggles, butit came as elided babytalk. 

"Again, " he commanded. 

"I don't wan' to. "

"Again!" he snapped. 

Martha began to cry. 

That, to James, was the end. But Mrs. Bagley stepped forward with acommanding wave for James to vacate the premises and took over. Jamescould not analyze her expression, but it did look as if it held relief. He left the room to them; a half hour later Mrs. Bagley called him back. 

"She's had it, " said Mrs. Bagley. "Now you can start, I think. "

James looked dubious; but said, "Read this. "

"Martha?"

Martha took a deep breath and said, nicely, "'A' is the firstletter of the English Alphabet. "

"Good. " He pressed the button. "Again? Please?"

Martha recited it nicely. 

"Fine, " he said. "Now we'll look up 'Is' and go on from there. "

"My goodness, " said Mrs. Bagley, "this is going to take months. "

"Not at all, " said James. "It just goes slowly at the start. Most of thedefinitions use the same words over and over again. Martha really knowsmost of these simple words, we've just got to be dead certain that herown definition of them agrees wholly and completely with ours. After acouple of hours of this minute detail, we'll be skipping over everythingbut new words. After all, she only has to work them over once, and as wefind them, we'll mark them out of the book. Ready, Martha?"

"Can't read it. "

James took the little dictionary. "Um, " he said. "Hadn't occurred to me. "

"What?" asked Mrs. Bagley. 

"This thing says, Three-rd pers period sing periodic indic period of Be, 'the last in heavy bold type. Can't have Martha talking in abbreviations, "he chuckled. He went to the typewriter and wrote it out fully. "Now readthat, " he directed. 

She did and again the process went through without a hitch. Slowly, butsurely, they progressed for almost two hours before Martha rebelled. James stopped, satisfied with the beginning. 

But as time wore on into the late autumn, Martha slowly--oh, soslowly!--began to realize that there was importance to getting thingsright. She continued to tease. But she did her teasing before Jamesclosed the "Run" button. 

CHAPTER TEN

Once James progressed Martha through the little dictionary, he began witha book of grammar. Again it started slowly; he had to spend quite a bitof time explaining to Martha that she did indeed know all of the termsused in the book of grammar because they'd all been defined by thedictionary, now she was going to learn how the terms and theirdefinitions were used. 

James was on more familiar ground now. James, like Martha, had learnedhis first halting sentence structure by mimicking his parents, but heremembered the process of learning why and how sentences are constructedaccording to the rules, and how the rules are used rather than intuitionin forming sentences. 

Grammar was a topic that could not be taken in snippets and bits. Wholeparagraphs had to be read until Martha could read them without a halt ora mispronunciation, and then committed to memory with the "Run" buttonheld down. At the best it was a boring process, even though it took onlyminutes instead of days. It was not conflicting, but it was confusing. It installed permanently certain solid blocks of information that wereisolated; they stood alone until later blocks came in to connect theminto a whole area. 

Each session was numbing. Martha could take no more than a couple ofhours, after which her reading became foggy. She wanted a nap after eachsession and even after the nap she went around in a bemused state ofmental dizziness. 

Life settled down once more in the House on Martin's Hill. James workedwith the machine himself and laid out lessons to guide Martha. Then, finished for the day with education, James took to his typewriter whileMartha had her nap. It filled the days of the boy and girl completely. 

This made an unexpected and pleasant change in Mrs. Bagley's routine. Ithad been a job to keep Martha occupied. Now that Martha was busy, Mrs. Bagley found time on her own hands; without interruption, her houseworkroutine was completed quite early in the afternoon. 

Mrs. Bagley had never made any great point of getting dressed for dinner. She accumulated a collection of house-frocks; printed cotton washablesdiffering somewhat in color and cut but functionally identical. She worethem serially as they came from the row of hangers in her closet. 

Now she began to acquire some dressier things, wearing them even duringher shopping trips. 

James paid little attention to this change in his housekeeper's routine, but he approved. Mrs. Bagley was also taking more pains with the 'do' ofher hair, but the boy's notice was not detailed enough to take apart-by-section inventory of the whole. In fact, James gave the wholematter very little thought until Mrs. Bagley made a second change afterher return from town, appearing for dinner in what James could onlyclassify as a party dress. 

She asked, "James, do you mind if I go out this evening?"

James, startled, shrugged and said, "No, I guess not. "

"You'll keep an ear out for Martha?"

The need for watching a sleeping girl of seven and a half did notpenetrate. "What's up?" he asked. 

"It's been months since I saw a movie. "

James shrugged again, puzzled. "You saw the 'Bride of Frankenstein' lastnight on TV, " he pointed out. 

"I first saw that old horror when I was about your age, " she told himwith a trace of disdain. 

"I liked it. "

"So did I at eight and a half. But tonight I'm going to see a _new_picture. "

"Okay, " said James, wondering why anybody in their right mind would goout on a chilly night late in November just to see a moving picture whenthey could stay at home and watch one in comfort. "Have a good time. "

He expected Mrs. Bagley to take off in her car, but she did not. Shewaited until a brief _toot_! came from the road. Then, with a swirl ofmotion, she left. 

It took James Holden's limited experience some little time to identifythe 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 thingentirely. 

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

 * * * * *

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

His personal evaluation of the subject was uncomplicated. At some age notmuch greater than his own, boys and girls conglomerated in a mass thatmilled around in a constant state of flux and motion, like individualatoms of gas compressed in a container. Meetings and encounters tookplace both singly and in groups until nearly everybody had been in touchwith almost everybody else. Slowly the amorphous mass changed. Groupsbecame attracted by mutual interests. Changes and exchanges took place, and then a pair-formation began to take place. The pair-formation wentthrough its interchanges both with and without friction as thesettling-down process proceeded. At times predictable by comparing itto the statistics of radioactivity, the pair-production resulted inpermanent combination, which effectively removed this couple from freecirculation. 

James Holden had no grasp or feeling for the great catalyst that causesthis pair-production; he saw it only for its sheer mechanics. To him, thesensible way to go about this matter was to get there early and movefast, because one stands to make a better choice when there is a greaternumber of unattached specimens from which to choose. Those left over arelikely 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 andlingering. They paused for several moments on the doorstep, once therewas a short, muted laugh. The snick of the key came next and they cameinto 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 garagewhere Mrs. Bagley bought her car. James went on listening shamelessly. 

"Late? Phooey. When is eleven-thirty late?"

"When it's right now, " she replied with a light laugh. "Now, Tim. It'sbeen very--"

There came a long silence. 

Her voice was throaty when the silence broke. "Now, will you go?"

"Of course, " he said. 

"Not that way, silly, " she said. "The door's behind you. "

"Isn't the door I want, " he chuckled. 

"We're making enough noise to wake the dead, " she complained. 

"Then let's stop talking, " he told her. 

There was another long silence. 

"Now please go. "

"Can I come back tomorrow night?"

"Not tomorrow. "

"Friday?"

"Saturday. "

"It's a date, then. "

"All right. Now get along with you. "

"You're cruel and heartless, Janet, " he complained. "Sending a man out inthat cold and storm. "

"It isn't storming, and you've a fine heater in that car of yours. "

"I'd rather have you. "

"Do you tell that to all the girls?"

"Sure. Even Maggie the Washerwoman is better than an old car heater. "

Mrs. Bagley chuckled throatily. "How is Maggie?"

"She's fine. "

"I mean as a date. "

"Better than the car heater. "

"Tim, you're a fool. "

"When I was a kid, " said Tim reflectively, "there used to be a femalesiren in the movies. Her pet line used to be 'Kiss me, my fool!' ThedaBara, I think. Before talkies. Now--"

"No, Tim--"

Another long silence. 

"Now, Tim, you've simply _got_ to go!"

"Yeah, I know. You've convinced me. "

"Then why aren't you going?"

He chuckled. "Look, you've convinced me. I can't stay so I'll go, obviously. But now that we've covered this problem, let's drop thesubject for a while, huh?"

"Don't spoil a fine evening, Tim. "

"Janet, what's with you, anyway?"

"What do you mean, 'what's with me?'"

"Just this. Somewhere up in the house is this oddball Maxwell who hidesout all the time. He's either asleep or busy. Anyway, he isn't here. Doyou have to report in, punch a time clock, tuck him in--or do you turninto a pumpkin at the stroke of twelve?"

"Mr. Maxwell is paying me wages to keep house for him. That's all. Partof my wages is my keep. But it doesn't entitle me to have full run of thehouse or to bring guests in at midnight for a two-hour good-nightsession. "

"I'd like to tell this bird a thing or two, " said Tim Fisher sharply. "Hecan't keep you cooped up like--like--"

"Nobody is keeping me cooped up, " she said. "Like what?"

"What?"

"You said 'like--'"

"Skip it. What I meant is that you can't moulder, Janet. You've got toget out and meet people. "

"I've been out and I've met people. I've met you. "

"All to the good. "

"Fine. So you invited me out, and I went. It was fun. I liked it. You'veasked me, and I've said that I'd like to do it again on Saturday. I'veenjoyed being kissed, and I'll probably enjoy it again on Saturday. So--"

"I'd think you'd enjoy a lot of it. "

"Because my husband has been gone for five years?"

"Oh, now Janet--"

"That's what you meant, isn't it?"

"No. You've got me wrong. "

"Tim, stop it. You're spoiling a fine evening. You should have gonebefore it started to spoil. Now please put your smile on again and leavecheerfully. There's always Saturday--if you still want it. "

"I'll call you, " he said. 

The door opened once more and then closed. James took a deep breath, andthen stole away quietly to his own room. 

By some instinct he knew that this was no time to intercept Mrs. Bagleywith a lot of fool questions. 

 * * * * *

To the surprise and puzzlement of young James Quincy Holden, Mr. TimothyFisher telephoned early upon the following evening. He was greeted quitecordially by Mrs. Bagley. Their conversation was rambling and inane, especially when heard from one end only, and it took them almost tenminutes to confirm their Saturday night date. That came as another shock. 

Well, not quite. The explanation bothered him even more than the factitself. As a further extension of his little mechanical mating process, James had to find a place for the like of Jake Caslow and the women Jakeknew. None of them were classed in the desirable group, all of them wereamong the leftovers. But of course, since none of them were good enoughfor the 'good' people, they were good enough for one another, and thatmade it all right--for them. 

But Mrs. Bagley was not of their ilk. It was not right that she should beforced to take a leftover. 

And then it occurred to him that perhaps Mrs. Bagley was not reallytaking the leftover, Tim Fisher, but instead was using Tim Fisher'scompany as a means toward meeting a larger group, from which there mightbe a better specimen. So he bided his time, thinking deeply around thesubject, about which he knew nothing whatsoever. 

Saturday night was a repeat of Wednesday. They stayed out later, and upontheir return they took possession of the living room for at least an hourbefore they started their routine about the going-home process. Withminor variations in the dialog, and with longer and more frequentsilences, it almost followed the Wednesday night script. The variationpuzzled James even more. This session went according to program for awhile until Tim Fisher admitted with regret that it was, indeed, time forhim to depart. At which juncture Mrs. Bagley did not leap to her feet toaccept his offer to do that which she had been asking him to do for ahalf hour. Mrs. Bagley compounded the affair by sighing deeply andagreeing with him that it was a shame that it was so late and that she, too, wished that he could stay a little longer. This, of course, put themprecisely where they were a half hour earlier and they had to start thesilly business all over again. 

They parted after a final fifteen-minute discussion at the front door. This discussion covered Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and finally came toagreement on Wednesday. 

And so James Holden went to bed that night fully convinced that in a townof approximately two thousand people--he did not count the two or threehundred A. E. C. -College group as part of the problem--there were entirelytoo few attractive leftovers from which Mrs. Bagley could choose. 

But as this association grew, it puzzled him even more. For in hisunderstanding, any person forced to accept a second-rate choice does sowith an air of resignation, but not with a cheerful smile, a sparkle inthe eyes, and two hours of primping. 

James sought the answer in his books but they were the wrong volumes forreference of this subject. He considered the local Public Library onlylong enough to remember that it carried a few hundred books suitable forthe A. E. C. -College crew and a thousand or so of second-hand culls donatedby local citizens during cleanup campaigns. He resorted to buying booksby mail through advertisements in newspapers and magazines and received anumber of volumes of medical treatises, psychological texts, and a bookon obstetrics that convinced him that baby-having was both rare andhazardous. He read _By Love Possessed_ but he did not recognize the manyforms of love portrayed by the author because the volume was notannotated with signs or provided with a road map, and he did not knowit when he read about it. 

He went through the Kinsey books and absorbed a lot of data and graphsand figures on human behavior that meant nothing to him. James was noteven interested in the incidence of homosexuality among college studentsas compared to religious groups, or in the comparison between premaritalexperience and level of education. He knew the words and what the wordsmeant as defined in other words. But they were only words and did nottouch him where he lived. 

So, because none of the texts bothered to explain why a woman says Yes, when she means No, nor why a woman will cling to a man's lapels and pressherself against him and at the same time tell him he has to go home, James remained ignorant. He could have learned more from Lord Byron, Shelley, Keats, or Browning than from Kinsey, deLee, or the "Instructivebook on Sex, forwarded under plain wrapper for $2. 69 postpaid. "

Luckily for James, he did not study any of his material via the medium ofhis father's machine or it would have made him sick. For he was not yetcapable of understanding the single subject upon which more words havebeen expended in saying less than any other subject since the dawn ofhistory. 

His approach was academic, he could have been reading the definitivematerial on the life-cycle of the beetle insofar as any stir of his ownblood was concerned. 

From his study he did identify a couple of items. Tim Fisher obviouslydesired extramarital relations with Mrs. Bagley--or was it premaritalrelations? Probably both. Logic said that Mrs. Bagley, having alreadybeen married to Martha's father, could hardly enter into _pre_maritalrelations, although Tim could, since he was a bachelor. But they wouldn'tbe _pre_marital with Tim unless he followed through and married Mrs. Bagley. And so they must be _extra_marital. But whatever they werecalled, the Book said that there was about as much on one side as on theother. 

With a mind mildly aware of the facts of life, distorted through the eyesof near-nine James Holden, he watched them and listened in. 

As for Mrs. Bagley, she did not know that she was providing part of JamesHolden's extraliterary education. She enjoyed the company of Tim Fisher. Hesitantly, she asked James if she could have Tim for dinner one evening, and was a bit surprised at his immediate assent. They planned theevening, cleaned the lower part of the house of every trace of itscurrent occupancy, and James and Martha hied themselves upstairs. Dinnerwent with candlelight and charcoal-broiled steak--and a tray taken aloftfor "Mr. Maxwell" was consumed by James and Martha. The evening wentsmoothly. They listened to music and danced, they sat and talked. AndJames listened. 

Tim was not the same man. He sat calm and comfortably on the low sofawith Mrs. Bagley's head on his shoulder, both of them pleasantly bemusedby the dancing fireplace and with each other's company. He said, "Well, I'm glad this finally happened. "

"What happened?" she replied in a murmur. 

"Getting the invite for dinner. "

"Might have been sooner, I suppose. Sorry. "

"What took you so long?"

"Just being cautious, I guess. "

He chuckled. "Cautious?"

"Uh-huh. "

Tim laughed. 

"What's so darned funny?"

"Women. "

"Are we such a bunch of clowns?"

"Not clowns, Janet. Just funny. "

"All right, genius. Explain that. "

"A woman is a lovely creature who sends a man away so that he can't dowhat she wants him to do most of all. "

"Uh-huh. "

"She feeds him full of rare steak until he wants to crawl off in a cornerlike the family mutt and go to sleep. Once she gets him in a somnolentstate, she drapes herself tastefully on his shoulder and gets soft andwarm and willing. "

Mrs. Bagley laughed throatily. "Just start getting active, " she warned, "and you'll see how fast I can beat a hasty retreat. "

"Janet, what _is_ with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Hiding?"

"Yes, confound it, hiding!" he said, his voice turning hard. "Just who isthis Charles Maxwell character, anyway?"

"Tim, please--"

His voice lowered again. "Janet, " he said softly, "you're asking me totrust you, and at the same time you're not trusting me. "

"But I've nothing to hide. "

"Oh, stop it. I'm no schoolboy, Janet. If you have nothing to hide, whyare you acting as if you were sitting on the lid?"

"I still don't know what you're talking about. "

"Your words say so, but your tone is the icy haughtiness that dares me, mere male that I am, to call your lie. I've a half-notion to stompupstairs and confront your mysterious Maxwell--if he indeed exists. "

"You mustn't. He'd--"

"He'd what? I've been in this house for hours day and night and now allevening. I've never heard a sound, not the creak of a floorboard, theslam of a door, the opening of a window, nor the distant gurgle of cool, clear water, gushing into plumbing. So you've been married. This I know. You have a daughter. This I accept. Your husband is dead. This happens topeople every day; nice people, bad people, bright people, dull people. There was a young boy here last summer. Him I do not know, but you andyour daughter I do know about. I've checked--"

"How dare you check--?"

"I damn well dare check anything and anybody I happen to be personallyinterested in, " he stormed. "As a potential bed partner I wouldn't give ahoot who you were or what you were. But before I go to the point ofdividing the rest of my life on an exclusive contract, I have the rightto know what I'm splitting it with. "

"You have no right--"

"Balderdash! I have as much right as anybody to look at the record. Igrant you the same right to look up my family and my friends and thestatus of my bank account and my credit rating and my service record. Grant it? Hell, I couldn't stop you. Now, what's going on? Where is yourdaughter and where is that little boy? And where--if he exists--is thisCharles Maxwell?"

 * * * * *

James had heard enough. No matter which way this was going, it would endup wrong. He was proud of Mrs. Bagley's loyalty, but he knew that it wasan increasing strain and could very well lead to complications that couldnot be explained away without the whole truth. He decided that the onlything to do was to put in his own oar and relieve Mrs. Bagley. 

He walked in, yawning. He stood between them, facing Tim Fisher. Behindhim, Mrs. Bagley cried, "Now see--you've awakened him!"

In a dry-throated voice, Tim said, "I thought he was away at school. Now, what's the story?"

"It isn't her story to tell, " said James. "It's mine. "

"Now see here--"

"Mr. Fisher, you can't learn anything by talking incessantly. "

Tim Fisher took a step forward, his face dark, his intention to shake thetruth out of somebody. James held up a hand. "Sit down a moment andlisten, " he ordered. 

The sight of James and the words that this child was uttering stopped TimFisher. Puzzled, he nodded dumbly, found a chair, and sat on the frontedge of it, poised. 

"The whereabouts of Mr. Maxwell is his own business and none of yours. Your criticism is unfounded and your suspicions unworthy. But since youtake the attitude that this is some of your business, we don't mindtelling you that Mr. Maxwell is in New York on business. "

Tim Fisher eyed the youngster. "I thought you were away at school, " herepeated. 

"I heard you the first time, " said James. "Obviously, I am not. Why I amnot is Mr. Maxwell's business, not yours. And by insisting that somethingis wrong here and demanding the truth, you have placed Mrs. Bagley in theawkward position of having to make a decision that divides her loyalties. She has had the complete trust of Mr. Maxwell for almost a year and ahalf. Now, tell me, Mr. Fisher, to whom shall she remain loyal?"

"That isn't the point--"

"Yes, it is the point, Mr. Fisher. It is exactly the point. You're askingMrs. Bagley to tell you the details of her employer's business, which isunethical. "

"How much have you heard?" demanded Fisher crossly. 

"Enough, at least to know what you've been hammering at. "

"Then you know that I've as much as said that there was some suspicionattached. "

"Suspicion of what?"

"Well, why aren't you in school?"

"That's Mr. Maxwell's business. "

"Let me tell you, youngster, it is more than your Mr. Maxwell's business. There are laws about education and he's breaking them. "

James said patiently: "The law states that every child shall receive anadequate education. The precise wording I do not know, but it doesprovide for schooling outside of the state school system if the parent orguardian so prefers, and providing that such extraschool education isdeemed adequate by the state. Can you say that I am not properlyeducated, Mr. Fisher?"

"Well, you'd hardly expect me to be an expert on the subject. "

"Then I'd hardly expect you to pass judgment, either, " said Jamespointedly. 

"You're pretty--" Tim Fisher caught his tongue at the right moment. Hefelt his neck getting hot. It is hard enough to be told that you areoff-base and that your behavior has been bad when an adult says thedamning words. To hear the same words from a ten-year-old is unbearable. Right or wrong, the adult's position is to turn aside or shut the childup either by pulling rank or cuffing the young offender with an openhand. To have this upstart defend Mrs. Bagley, in whose presence he couldhardly lash back, put Mr. Fisher in a very unhappy state of mind. Heswallowed and then asked, lamely, "Why does he have to be so furtive?"

"What is your definition of 'furtive'?" asked James calmly. "Do youemploy the same term to describe the operations of that combinationCollege-A. E. C. Installation on the other side of town?"

"That's secret--"

"Implying that atomic energy is secretly above-board, legal, andhonorable, whereas Mr. Maxwell's--"

"But we know about atomic energy. "

"Sure we do, " jeered James, and the sound of his immature near-treblevoice made the jeer very close to an insult. "We know _all_ about atomicenergy. Was the Manhattan Project called 'furtive' until Hiroshima gavethe story away?"

"You're trying to put words in my mouth, " objected Tim. 

"No, I'm not. I'm merely trying to make you understand somethingimportant to everybody. You come in here and claim by the right ofpersonal interest that we should be most willing to tell you ourbusiness. Then in the next breath you defend the installation over on theother side of town for their attitude in giving the bum's rush to peoplewho try to ask questions about their business. Go read your Constitution, Mr. Fisher. It says there that I have as much right to defend my homeagainst intruders as the A. E. C. Has to defend their home against spies. "

"But I'm not intruding. "

James nodded his head gently. "Not, " he said, "until you make the graveerror of equating personal privacy with culpable guilt. "

"I didn't mean that. "

"You should learn to say what you mean, " said James, "instead of tryingto pry information out of someone who happens to be fond of you. "

"Now see here, " said Tim Fisher, "I happen to be fond of her too, youknow. Doesn't that give me some rights?"

"Would you expect to know all of her business if she were your wife?"

"Of course. "

"Suppose she were working in the A. E. C. -College?"

"Well, that--er--"

"Would be different?"

"Well, now--"

"I talked this right around in its circle for a purpose, " said James. "Stop and think for a moment. Let's discuss me. Mr. Fisher, where wouldyou place me in school?"

"Er--how old are you?"

"Nine, " said James. "In April. "

"Well, I'm not sure--"

"Exactly. Do you suppose that I could sit in a classroom among mynine-year-old contemporaries very long without being found out?"

"Er--no--I suppose not. "

"Mr. Fisher, how long do you think I could remain a secret if I attendedhigh school, sitting at a specially installed desk in a class amongteenagers twice my size?"

"Not very long. "

"Then remember that some secrets are so big that you have to have armedguards to keep them secret, and others are so easy to conceal that allyou need is a rambling old house and a plausible façade. "

"Why have you told me all this?"

"Because you have penetrated this far by your own effort, justified byyour own personal emotions, and driven by an urge that is all-powerful ifI am to believe the books I've read on the subject. You are told thismuch of the truth so that you won't go off half-cocked with a finecollection of rather dangerous untruths. Understand?"

"I'm beginning to. "

"Well, whether Mrs. Bagley accepts your offer of marriage or not, remember one thing: If she were working for the A. E. C. You'd be proud ofher, and you'd also be quite careful not to ask questions that wouldcause her embarrassment. "

Tim Fisher looked at Mrs. Bagley. "Well?" he asked. 

Mrs. Bagley looked bleak. "Please don't ask me until I've had a chance todiscuss all of the angles with Mr. Maxwell, Tim. "

"Maxwell, again. "

"Tim, " she said in a quiet voice, "remember--he's an employer, not anemotional involvement. "

James Holden looked at Tim Fisher. "And if you'll promise to keep thisthing as close a secret as you would some information about atomicenergy, I'll go to bed and let you settle your personal problems inprivate. Good night!"

He left, reasonably satisfied that Tim Fisher would probably keep theirsecret for a time, at least. The hinted suggestion that this was asimportant a government project as the Atomic Energy Commission's workswould prevent casual talk. There was also the slim likelihood that TimFisher might enjoy the position of being on the inside of a big secret, although this sort of inner superiority lacks true satisfaction. Therewas a more solid chance that Tim Fisher, being the ambitious man that hewas, would keep their secret in the hope of acquiring for himself someof the superior knowledge and the advanced ability that went with it. 

But James was certain that the program that had worked so well with Mrs. Bagley would fail with Tim Fisher. James had nothing material to offerTim. Tim was the kind of man who would insist upon his wife being afull-time wife, physically, emotionally, and intellectually. 

And James suddenly realized that Tim Fisher's own ambition and characterwould insist that Mrs. Bagley, with Martha, leave James Holden to take upresidence in a home furnished by Tim Fisher upon the date and at time shebecame Mrs. Timothy Fisher. 

He was still thinking about the complications this would cause when heheard Tim leave. His clock said three-thirty. 

 * * * * *

James Holden's mechanical educator was a wonderful machine, but therewere some aspects of knowledge that it was not equipped to impart. Theglandular comprehension of love was one such; there were others. In allof his hours under the machine James had not learned how personalitieschange and grow. 

And yet there was a textbook case right before his eyes. 

In a few months, Janet Bagley had changed from a frightened andbelligerent mother-animal to a cheerful young prospective wife. Theimportance of the change lay in the fact that it was not polar, nothingreversed; it was only that the emphasis passed gradually from theprotection of the young to the development of Janet Bagley herself. 

James could not very well understand, though he tried, but he couldn'tmiss seeing it happen. It was worrisome. It threatened complications. 

There was quite a change that came with Tim Fisher's elevation in statusfrom steady date to affianced husband, heightened by Tim Fisher's partialunderstanding of the situation at Martin's Hill. 

Then, having assumed the right to drop in as he pleased, he went on toassume more "rights" as Mrs. Bagley's fiancé. He brought in his friendsfrom time to time. Not without warning, of course, for he understood theneed for secrecy. When he brought friends it was after warning, and veryfrequently after he had helped them to remove the traces of juvenileoccupancy from the lower part of the house. 

In one way, this took some of the pressure off. The opening of the"hermit's" house to the friends of the "hermit's" housekeeper's fiancéand friends was a pleasant evidence of good will; people stoppedwondering, a little. 

On the other hand, James did not wholly approve. He contrasted this withwhat he remembered of his own home life. The guests who came to visit hismother and father were quiet and earnest. They indulged in animateddiscussions, argued points of deep reasoning, and in moments ofrelaxation they indulged in games that demanded skill and intellect. 

Tim Fisher's friends were noisy and boisterous. They mixed highballs. They danced to music played so loud that it made the house throb. Theywatched the fights on television and argued with more volume than logic. 

They were, to young James, a far cry from his parents' friends. 

But, as he couldn't do anything about it, he refused to worry about it. James Holden turned his thoughts forward and began to plan how he wasgoing to face the culmination of this romance next September Fifteenth. He even suspected that there would probably be a number of knotty littleproblems that he now knew nothing about; he resolved to allow somethinking-time to cope with them when, as, and if. 

In the meantime, the summer was coming closer. 

He prepared to make a visible show of having Mr. Charles Maxwell leavefor a protracted summer travel. This would ease the growing problem ofproviding solid evidence of Maxwell's presence during the increasingfrequency of Tim Fisher's visits and the widening circle of Mrs. Bagley'sacquaintances in Shipmont. At the same time he and Martha would make areturn from the Bolton School for Youth. This would allow them theirfreedom for the summer; for the first time James looked forward to it. Martha Bagley was progressing rapidly. This summer would see her over anddone with the scatter-brain prattle that gave equal weight to fact orfancy. Her store of information was growing; she could be relied upon tomaintain a fairly secure cover. Her logic was not to James Holden'scomplete satisfaction but she accepted most of his direction as necessaryinformation to be acted upon now and reasoned later. 

In the solving of his immediate problems, James can be forgiven forputting Paul Brennan out of his mind. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

But Paul Brennan was still alive, and he had not forgotten. 

While James was, with astonishing success, building a life for himself inhiding, Brennan did everything he could to find him. That is to say, hedid everything that--under the circumstances--he could afford to do. 

The thing was, the boy had got clean away, without a trace. 

When James escaped for the third, and very successful, time, Brennan washelpless. James had planned well. He had learned from his first twoefforts. The first escape was a blind run toward a predictable objective;all right, that was a danger to be avoided. His second was entirelysuccessful--until James created his own area of danger. Another lessonlearned. 

The third was planned with as much care as Napoleon's deliverance fromthe island. 

James had started by choosing his time. He'd waited until Easter Week. He'd had a solid ten days during which he would be only one of countlessthousands of children on the streets; there would be no slight suspicionbecause he was out when others were in. 

 * * * * *

James didn't go to school that day. That was common; children in thelower grades are often absent, and no one asks a question until theyreturn, with the proper note from the parent. He was not missed anywhereuntil the school bus that should have dropped him off did not. This wasan area of weakness that Brennan could not plug; he could hardly justifythe effort of delivering and fetching the lad to and from school when thepublic school bus passed the Holden home. Brennan relied upon theMitchells to see James upon the bus and to check him off when hereturned. Whether James would have been missed earlier even with apersonal delivery is problematical; certainly James would have had toconcoct some other scheme to gain him his hours of free time. 

At any rate, the first call to the school connected the Mitchells with agrumpy-voiced janitor who growled that teachers and principals had headedfor their hills of freedom and wouldn't be back until Monday Week. Ittook some calling to locate a couple of James Holden's classmates whoasserted that he hadn't been in school that day. 

Paul Brennan knew at once what had happened, but he could not raise animmediate hue-and-cry. He fretted because of the Easter Week vacation; inany other time the sight of a school-aged boy free during school hourswould have caused suspicion. During Easter Week vacation, every schoolboywould be free. James would also be protected by his size. A youngsterwalking alone is not suspect; his folks _must_ be close by. The fact thatit was "again" placed Paul Brennan in an undesirable position. This wasnot the youthful adventure that usually ends about three blocks fromhome. This was a repeat of the first absence during which James had beenmissing for months. People smile at the parents of the child who packshis little bag with a handkerchief and a candy bar to sally forth intothe great big world, but it becomes another matter when the lad of sixleaves home with every appearance of making it stick. So Brennan had toplay it cozy, inviting newspaper reporters to the Holden home to displaywhat he had to offer young James and giving them free rein to questionBrennan's housekeeper and general factotum, the Mitchells. Withhonest-looking zeal, Paul Brennan succeeded in building up a picture thatdepicted James as ungrateful, hard to understand, wilful, and somethingof an intellectual brat. 

Then the authorities proceeded to throw out a fine-mesh dragnet. Theyquestioned and cross-questioned bus drivers and railroad men. They madecontact with the local airport even though its facilities were only usedfor a daisy-cutting feeder line. Posters were printed and sent to alltruck lines for display to the truck drivers. The roadside diners werecovered thoroughly. And knowing the boy's ability to talk convincingly, the authorities even went so far as to try the awesome project of makingcontact with passengers bound out-of-town with young male children intow. 

Had James given them no previous experience to think about, he would havebeen merely considered a missing child and not a deliberate runaway. Then, instead of dragging down all of the known avenues of standardescape, the townspeople would have organized a tree-by-tree search of thefields and woods with hundreds of men walking hand in hand to inspectevery square foot of the ground for either tracks or the child himself. But the _modus operandi_ of young James Holden had been to apply slytouches such as writing letters and forging signatures of adults tocause the unquestioned sale of railroad tickets, or the unauthorized ridein the side-door Pullman. 

Therefore, while the authorities were extending their circle of searchbased upon the velocity of modern transportation, James Holden was makinghis slow way across field and stream, guided by a Boy Scout compass and aU. S. Geodetic Survey map to keep him well out of the reach of roadway ortown. With difficulty, but with dogged determination, he carried a lightcot-blanket into which he had rolled four cans of pork and beans. He hada Boy Scout knife and a small pair of pliers to open it with. He hadmatches. He had the Boy Scout Handbook which was doubly useful; the pagesdevoted to woodsman's lore he kept for reference, the pages wasted on thequalifications for merit badges he used to start fires. He enjoyedsleeping in the open because it was spring and pleasantly warm, andbecause the Boy Scout Manual said that camping out was fun. 

A grown man with an objective can cover thirty or forty miles per daywithout tiring. James made it ten to fifteen. Thus, by the time theorganized search petered out for lack of evidence and manpower--tryasking one question of everybody within a hundred-mile radius--James wasquietly making his way, free of care, like a hardy pioneer looking for ahomestead site. 

The hint of kidnap went out early. The Federal Bureau of Investigation, of course, could not move until the waiting period was ended, but theydid collect information and set up their organization ready to moveinto high speed at the instant of legal time. But then no ransom lettercame; no evidence of the crime of kidnapping. This did not close thecase; there were other cases on record where a child was stolen by adultsfor purposes other than ransom. It was not very likely that a child ofsix would be stolen by a neurotic adult to replace a lost infant, andPaul Brennan was personally convinced that James Holden had enoughself-reliance to make such a kidnap attempt fail rather early in thegame. He could hardly say so, nor could he suggest that James had indeedrun away deliberately and skilfully, and with planned steps worthy of amuch older person. He could only hint and urge the F. B. I. Into any actionthat he could coerce them into taking; he did not care how or who broughtJames back just so long as the child was returned to his custody. 

Then as the days wore into weeks with no sign, the files were placedin the inactive drawer. Paul Brennan made contact with a few privateagencies. 

He was stopped here, again, by another angle. The Holdens were by nomeans wealthy. Brennan could not justify the offer of some reward solarge that people simply could not turn down the slim chance ofcollecting. If the missing one is heir to a couple of million dollars, the trustees can justify a reward of a good many thousand dollars for hisreturn. The amount that Brennan was prepared to offer could not compelthe services of a private agency on a full-time basis. The best and themost interested of the agencies took the case on a contingent basis; ifsomething turned their way in the due course of their work they'dimmediately take steps. Solving the case of a complete disappearance onthe part of a child who virtually vanished into thin air would be goodadvertising, but their advertising budget would not allow them to put oneman on the case without the first shred of evidence to point the way. 

If Paul Brennan had been above-board, he could have evoked a lot ofinterest. The search for a six-year-old boy with the educationaldevelopment of a youth of about eighteen, informed through the servicesof an electromechanical device, would have fired public interest, Government intervention, and would also have justified Paul Brennan'sdepth of interest. But Paul Brennan could say nothing about the excellenttraining, he could only hint at James Holden's mental proficiency whichwas backed up by the boy's school record. As it was, Paul Brennan'smost frightful nightmare was one where young James was spotted by someeagle-eyed detective and then in desperation--anything being better thanan enforced return to Paul Brennan--James Holden pulled out all the stopsand showed everybody precisely how well educated he really was. 

In his own affairs, Paul still had to make a living, which took up histime. As guardian and trustee of the Holden Estate, he was responsible tothe State for his handling of James Holden's inheritance. The State takesa sensible view of the disbursements of the inheritance of a minor. Reasonable sums may be spent on items hardly deemed necessities to theaverage person, but the ceiling called "reasonable" is a flexible termand subject to close scrutiny by the State. 

In the long run it was Paul Brennan's own indefensible position that madeit impossible to prosecute a proper search for the missing James Holden. Brennan suspected James of building up a bank account under some falsename, but he could not saunter into banks and ask to examine theirrecords without a Court order. Brennan knew that James had not taken offwithout preparation, but the examination of the stuff that James leftbehind was not very informative. There was a small blanket missing andMrs. Mitchell said that it looked as though some cans had been removedfrom the stock but she could not be sure. And in a large collection ofboy's stuff, one would not observe the absence of a Boy Scout knife andother trivia. Had a 100% inventory been available, the list of missingitems would have pointed out James Holden's avenue of escape. 

The search for an adult would have included questioning of banks. No oneknows whether such a questioning would have uncovered the bank-by-mailroutine conducted under the name of Charles Maxwell. It is not a regularthing, but the receipt of a check drawn on a New York bank, issued by apublishing company, and endorsed to be paid to the account of so-and-so, accompanied by a request to open an account in that name might never beconnected with the manipulations of a six-year-old genius, who wasovertly just plain bright. 

And so Paul Brennan worried himself out of several pounds for fearthat James would give himself away to the right people. He cursed thenecessity of keeping up his daily work routine. The hue-and-cry he couldnot keep alive, but he knew that somewhere there was a young boy entirelycapable of reconstructing the whole machine that Paul Brennan wanted sodesperately that he had killed for it. 

Paul Brennan was blocked cold. With the F. B. I. Maintaining a hands-offattitude because there was no trace of any Federal crime involved, thecase of James Holden was relegated to the missing-persons files. Itbecame the official opinion that the lad had suffered some mishap andthat it would only be a matter of time before his body was discovered. Paul Brennan could hardly prove them wrong without explaining the wholesecret of James Holden's intelligence, competence, and the certainty thatthe young man would improve upon both as soon as he succeeded inrebuilding the Holden Electromechanical Educator. 

With the F. B. I. Out of the picture, the local authorities waiting for thediscovery of a small body, and the state authorities shelving the caseexcept for the routine punch-card checks, official action died. Brennan'savailable reward money was not enough to buy a private agency's interestfull-time. 

Brennan could not afford to tell anybody of his suspicion of JamesHolden's source of income, for the idea of a child's making a living bywriting would be indefensible without full explanation. However, PaulBrennan resorted to reading of magazines edited for boys. Month aftermonth he bought them and read them, comparing the styles of the manywriters against the style of the manuscript copy left behind by James. 

Brennan naturally assumed that James would use a pen name. Writers oftenused pen names to conceal their own identity for any one of severalreasons. A writer might use three or more pen names, each one identifiedwith a known style of writing, or a certain subject or establishedcharacter. But Paul Brennan did not know all there was to know about thepen-name business, such as an editor assigning a pen name to prevent thetoo-often appearance of some prolific writer, or conversely to make onewriter's name seem exclusive with his magazine; nor could Brennan knowthat a writer's literary standing can be kept high by assigning a penname to any second-rate material he may be so unfortunate as to turn out. 

Paul Brennan read many stories written by James Holden under severalnames, including the name of Charles Maxwell, but Brennan'sidentification according to literary style was no better than if he hadtossed a coin. 

And so, blocked by his own guilt and avarice from making use of the legalavenues of approach, Paul Brennan fumed and fretted away four long yearswhile James Holden grew from six to ten years old, hiding under the guiseof the Hermit of Martin's Hill and behind the pleasant adult façade ofMrs. Janet Bagley. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

If Paul Brennan found himself blocked in his efforts to find James Holdenand the re-created Holden Educator, James himself was annoyed by oneevident fact: Everything he did resulted in spreading the news of themachine itself. 

Had he been eighteen or so, he might have made out to his own taste. Inthe days of late teen-age, a youth can hold a job and rent a room, buyhis own clothing and conduct himself to the limit of his ability. At tenhe is suspect, because no one will permit him to paddle his own canoe. Ata later age James could have rented a small apartment and built hismachine alone. But starting as young as he did, he was forced to hidebehind the cover of some adult, and he had picked Mrs. Bagley because hecould control her both through her desire for security and the promise ofa fine education for the daughter Martha Bagley. 

The daughter was a two-way necessity; she provided him with acontemporary companion and also gave him a lever to wield against theadult. A lone woman could have made her way without trouble. A lone womanwith a girl-child is up against a rather horrifying problem of providingboth support and parental care. He felt that he had done what he had todo, up to the point where Mrs. Bagley became involved with Tim Fisher oranybody else. This part of adulthood was not yet within his grasp. 

But there it was and here it is, and now there was Martha to complicatethe picture. Had Mrs. Bagley been alone, she and Tim could go off andmarry and then settle down in Timbuctoo if they wanted to. But not withMartha. She was in the same intellectual kettle of sardines as James. Hertaste in education was by no means the same. She took to the mathematicalsubjects indifferently, absorbing them well enough--once she could betalked into spending the couple of hours that each day demanded--butwithout interest. Martha could rattle off quotations from literarymasters, she could follow the score of most operas (her voice was a bitoff-key but she knew what was going on) and she enjoyed all of theavailable information on keeping a house in order. Her eye and her mindwere, as James Holden's, faster than her hand. She went through the samefrustrations as he did, with different tools and in a different medium. The first offside snick of the scissors she knew to be bad before shetried the pattern for size, and the only way she could correct suchdefective work was to practice and practice until her muscles weretrained enough to respond to the direction of her mind. 

Remove her now and place her in a school--even the most advancedschool--and she would undergo the unhappy treatment that James hadundergone these several years ago. 

And yet she could not be cut loose. Martha was as much a part of thisvery strange life as James was. So this meant that any revision inoverall policy must necessarily include the addition of Tim Fisher andnot the subtraction of Mrs. Bagley and Martha. 

"Charles Maxwell" had to go. 

James's problem had not changed. His machine must be kept a secret aslong as he could. The machine was his, James Quincy Holden's property byevery known and unwritten legal right of direct, single, unclutteredinheritance. The work of his parents had been stopped by their death, butit was by no means finished with the construction of the machine. To thecontrary, the real work had only begun with the completion of the firstworking model. And whether he turned out to be a machine-made genius, anover-powered dolt, or an introverted monster it was still his ownpersonal reason for being alive. 

He alone should reap the benefit or the sorrow, and had his parents livedthey would have had their right to reap good or bad with him. Good orbad, had they lived, he would have received their protection. 

As it was, he had no protection whatsoever. Until he could have and holdthe right to control his own property as he himself saw fit, he had tohide just as deep from the enemy who would steal it as he must hide fromthe friend who would administrate it as a property in escrow for his owngood, since he as a minor was legally unable to walk a path both fittingand proper for his feet. 

So, the facts had to be concealed. Yet all he was buying was time. 

By careful juggling, he had already bought some. Months with Jake Caslow, a few months stolidly fighting the school, and two with the help of Mrs. Bagley and Martha. Then in these later months there had been morepurchased time; time gained by the post-dated engagement and theprocrastinated marriage, which was now running out. 

No matter what he did, it seemed that the result was a wider spread ofknowledge about the Holden Electromechanical Educator. 

So with misgiving and yet unaware of any way or means to circumvent thenecessity without doing more overall harm, James decided that Tim Fishermust be handed another piece of the secret. A plausible piece, with asmuch truth as he would accept for the time being. Maybe--hand Tim Fishera bit with great gesture and he would not go prying for the whole?

His chance came in mid-August. It was after dinner on an eveninguncluttered with party or shower or the horde of just-dropped-in-friendsof whom Tim Fisher had legion. 

Janet Bagley and Tim Fisher sat on the low divan in the living roomhalf-facing each other. Apart, but just so far apart that they couldtouch with half a gesture, they were discussing the problem of domicile. They were also still quibbling mildly about the honeymoon. Tim Fisherwanted a short, noisy one. A ten-day stay in Hawaii, flying both ways, with a ten-hour stopover in Los Angeles on the way back. Janet Bagleywanted a long and lazy stay somewhere no closer than fifteen hundredmiles to the nearest telephone, newspaper, mailbox, airline, bus stop, orhighway. She'd take the 762-day rocket trip to Venus if they had oneavailable. Tim was duly sympathetic to her desire to get away from herdaily grind for as long a time as possible, but he also had a garage torun, and he was by no means incapable of pointing out the practical sideof crass commercialism. 

But unlike the problem of the honeymoon, which Janet Bagley was willingto discuss on any terms for the pleasure of discussing it, the problem ofdomicile had been avoided--to the degree of being pointed. 

For Janet Bagley was still torn between two loyalties. Hers was nota lone loyalty to James Holden, there had been almost a completeassociation with the future of her daughter in the loyalty. She realizedas well as James did, that Martha must not be wrested from this life andforced to live, forever an outcast, raised mentally above the level ofher age and below the physical size of her mental development. Mrs. Bagley thought only of Martha's future; she gave little or no thought onthe secondary part of the problem. But James knew that once Martha wasseparated from the establishment, she could not long conceal her advancedinformation, and revealing that would reveal its source. 

And so, as they talked together with soft voices, James Holden decidedthat he could best buy time by employing logic, finance, and good commonsense. He walked into the living room and sat across the coffee tablefrom them. He said, "You'll have to live here, you know. "

The abrupt statement stunned them both. Tim sat bolt upright andobjected, "I'll see to it that we're properly housed, young fellow. "

"This isn't charity, " replied James. "Nor the goodness of my littleheart. It's a necessity. "

"How so?" demanded Tim crossly. "It's my life--and Janet's. "

"And--Martha's life, " added James. 

"You don't think I'm including her out, do you?"

"No, but you're forgetting that she isn't to be popped here and there asthe fancy hits you, either. She's much to be considered. "

"I'll consider her, " snapped Tim. "She shall be my daughter. If she will, I'll have her use my name as well as my care and affection. "

"Of course you will, " agreed James. The quick gesture of Mrs. Bagley'shand towards Tim, and his equally swift caress in reply were noticed butnot understood by James. "But you're not thinking deeply enough aboutit. "

"All right. You tell me all about it. "

"Martha must stay here, " said James. "Neither of you--nor Martha--haveany idea of how stultifying it can be to be forced into school under thesupervision of teachers who cannot understand, and among classmateswhose grasp of any subject is no stronger than a feeble grope in themental dawn. "

"Maybe so. But that's no reason why we must run our life your way. "

"You're wrong, Mr. Fisher. Think a moment. Without hesitation, you willinclude the education of Martha Bagley along with the 'care andaffection' you mentioned a moment ago. "

"Of course. "

"This means, Mr. Fisher, that Martha, approaching ten years old, represents a responsibility of about seven more years prior to hergraduation from high school and another four years of college--grantingthat Martha is a standard, normal, healthy young lady. Am I right?"

"Sure. "

"Well, since you are happy and willing to take on the responsibility ofeleven years of care and affection and the expense of schooling the girl, you might as well take advantage of the possibilities here and figure onfive years--or less. If we cannot give her the equal of a master's degreein three, I'm shooting in the dark. Make it five, and she'll have herdoctor's degree--or at least it's equivalent. Does that make sense?"

"Of course it does. But--"

"No buts until we're finished. You'll recall the tales we told you aboutthe necessity of hiding out. It must continue. During the school year wemust not be visible to the general public. "

"But dammit, I don't want to set up my family in someone else's house, "objected Tim Fisher. 

"Buy this one, " suggested James. "Then it will be yours. I'll stay on andpay rent on my section. "

"You'll--now wait a minute! What are you talking about?"

"I said, _'I'll pay rent on my section, '_" said James. 

"But this guy upstairs--" Tim took a long breath. "Let's get thisstraight, " he said, "now that we're on the subject, what about Mr. Charles Maxwell?"

"I can best quote, " said James with a smile, "'Oh, what a tangled web weweave, when first we practice to deceive!'"

"That's Shakespeare. "

"Sorry. That's Sir Walter Scott. _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_. CantoSix, Stanza Seventeen. The fact of the matter is that we could go oncompounding this lie, but it's time to stop it. Mr. Charles Maxwelldoes not exist. "

"I don't understand!"

"Hasn't it puzzled you that this hermit-type character that never puts afoot out of the house has been out and gone on some unstated vacation orbusiness trip for most of the spring and summer?"

"Hadn't given it a thought, " said Fisher with a fatuous look at Mrs. Bagley. She mooned back at him. For a moment they were lost in oneanother, giving proof to the idea that blinder than he who will notsee is the fellow who has his eye on a woman. 

"Charles Maxwell does not exist except in the minds of his happyreaders, " said James. "He is a famous writer of boys' stories and knownto a lot of people for that talent. Yet he is no more a real personthan Lewis Carroll. "

"But Lewis Carroll did exist--"

"As Charles L. Dodgson, a mathematician famous for his work in symboliclogic. "

"All right! Then who writes these stories? Who supports you--and thishouse?"

"I do!"

Tim blinked, looked around the room a bit wildly and then settled onMartha, looking at her helplessly. 

"It's true, Tim, " she said quietly. "It's crazy but it works. I've beenliving with it for years. "

Tim considered that for a full minute. "All right, " he said shortly. "Soit works. But why does any kid have to live for himself?" He eyed James. "Who's responsible for you?"

"I am!"

"But--"

"Got an hour?" asked James with a smile. "Then listen--"

At the end of James Holden's long explanation, Tim Fisher said, "Me--?Now, I need a drink!"

James chuckled, "Alcoholic, of course--which is Pi to seven decimalplaces if you ever need it. Just count the letters. "

Over his glass, Tim eyed James thoughtfully. "So if this is true, James, just who owns that fabulous machine of yours?"

"It is mine, or ours. "

"You gave me to believe that it was a high-priority Government project, "he said accusingly. 

"Sorry. But I would lie as glibly to God Himself if it became necessaryto protect myself by falsehood. I'm sorry it isn't a Government project, but it's just as important a secret. "

"Anything as big as this _should_ be the business of the Government. "

"Perhaps so. But it's mine to keep or to give, and it's mine to study. "James was thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose that you can argue thatanything as important as this should be handed over to the authoritiesimmediately; that a large group of men dedicated to such a study canlocate its difficulties and its pitfalls and failures far swifter thana single youth of eleven. Yet by the right of invention, a processprotected by the Constitution of the United States and circumvented bysome very odd rulings on the part of the Supreme Court, it is mine byinheritance, to reap the exclusive rewards for my family's work. UntilI'm of an age when I am deemed capable of managing my own life, I'd be'protected' out of my rights if I handed this to anybody--including theGovernment. They'd start a commission full of bureaucrats who'd firstuse the machine to study how to best expand their own little empire, perpetuate themselves in office, and then they'd rule me out on thequaint theory that education is so important that it mustn't be wastedon the young. "

Tim Fisher smiled wryly. He turned to Janet Bagley. "How do you want it?"he asked her. 

"For Martha's sake, I want it his way, " she said. 

"All right. Then that's the way we'll have it, " said Tim Fisher. He eyedJames somewhat ruefully. "You know, it's a funny thing. I've alwaysthought this was a screwy set-up, and to be honest, I've always thoughtyou were a pretty bumptious kid. I guess you had a good reason. Anyway, Ishould have known Janet wouldn't have played along with it unless she hada reason that was really helping somebody. "

James saw with relief that Tim had allied himself with the cause; he was, in fact, very glad to have someone knowledgeable and levelheaded in onthe problem. Anyway he really liked Tim, and was happy to have thedeception out of the way. 

"That's all right, " he said awkwardly. 

Tim laughed. "Hey, will this contraption of yours teach me how to adjusta set of tappets?"

"No, " said James quickly. "It will teach you the theory of how to chopdown a tree but it can't show you how to swing an axe. Or, " he went onwith a smile, "it will teach you how to be an efficient accountant--butyou have to use your own money!"

 * * * * *

In the house on Martin's Hill, everybody won. Tim Fisher objected atfirst to the idea of gallivanting off on a protracted honeymoon, leavinga nine-year-old daughter in the care of a ten-year-old boy. ButJanet--now Mrs. Fisher--pointed out that James and Martha were both quitecompetent, and furthermore there was little to be said for a honeymoonencumbered with a little pitcher that had such big ears, to say nothingof a pair of extremely curious eyes and a rather loud voice. Andfurthermore, if we allow the woman's privilege of adding one furthermoreon top of another, it had been a long, long time since Janet had enjoyeda child-free vacation. So she won. It was not Hawaii by air for a ten-daystay. It was Hawaii by ship with a sixty-day sojourn in a hotel thatoffered both seclusion and company to the guests' immediate preference. 

James Holden won more time. He felt that every hour was a victory. Attimes he despaired because time passed so crawlingly slow. All the wealthof his education could not diminish that odd sense of the time-factorthat convinces all people that the length of the years diminish as ageincreases. Far from being a simple, amusing remark, the problem has beenstudied because it is universal. It is psychological, of course, and itis not hard to explain simply in terms of human experience plus the knownfact that the human senses respond to the logarithm of the stimulus. 

With most people, time is reasonably important. We live by the clock, andwe die by the clock, and before there were clocks there were candlesmarked in lengths and sand flowing through narrow orifices, waterdripping into jars, and posts stuck in the ground with marks for theshadow to divide the day. The ancient ones related womanhood to the moonand understood that time was vital in the course of Life. 

With James, time was more important, perhaps, than to any other humanbeing alive. He was fighting for time, always. His was not the immaturedesire of uneducated youth to become adult overnight for vague reasons. 

With James it was an honest evaluation of his precarious position. Hehad to hide until he was deemed capable of handling his own affairs, after which he could fight his own battles in his own way without theinterference of the laws that are set up to protect the immature. 

With Tim Fisher and his brand-new bride out of the way, James took a deepbreath at having leaped one more hurdle. Then he sat down to think. 

Obviously there is no great sea-change that takes place at the Stroke OfMidnight on the date of the person's 21st birthday; no magic wand iswaved over his scalp to convert him in a moment of time from a pulinginfant to a mature adult. The growth of child to adult is as gradual asthe increase of his stature, which varies from one child to the next. 

The fact remained that few people are confronted by the necessity ofmaking a decision based upon the precise age of the subject. We usuallycross this barrier with no trouble, taking on our rights andresponsibilities as we find them necessary to our life. Only in probatingan estate left by the demise of both parents in the presence of minorchildren does this legal matter of precise age become noticeable. Eventhen, the control exerted over the minor by the legal guardian diminishesby some obscure mathematical proportion that approaches zero as the minorapproaches the legal age of maturity. Rare is the case of the reluctantguardian who jealously relinquishes the iron rule only after the properlitigation directs him to let go, render the accounting for audit, andturn over the keys to the treasury to the rightful heir. 

James Holden was the seldom case. James Holden needed a very adroitlawyer to tell him how and when his rights and privileges as a citizencould be granted, and under what circumstances. From the evidence alreadyat hand, James saw loopholes available in the matter of the legal age oftwenty-one. But he also knew that he could not approach a lawyer withquestions without giving full explanation of every why and wherefore. 

So James Holden, already quite competent in the do-it-himself method ofcutting his own ice, decided to study law. Without any forewarning of themonumental proportions of the task he faced, James started to acquirebooks on legal procedure and the law. 

 * * * * *

With the return of Tim and Janet Fisher matters progressed well. Mrs. Fisher took over the running of the household; Tim continued his runningof the garage and started to dicker for the purchase of the house onMartin's Hill. The "Hermit" who had returned before the wedding remainedtemporarily. With a long-drawn plan, Charles Maxwell would slowly fadeout of sight. Already his absence during the summer was hinting as beinga medical study; during the winter he would return to the distanthospital. Later he would leave completely cured to take up residenceelsewhere. Beyond this they planned to play it by ear. 

James and Martha, freed from the housework routine, went deep into study. 

Christmas passed and spring came and in April, James marked his eleventhbirthday. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

One important item continued to elude James Holden. The Educator couldnot be made to work in "tandem. " In less technical terms, the Educatorwas strictly an individual device, a one-man-dog. The wave forms thatcould be recorded were as individual as fingerprints and pore-patternsand iris markings. James could record a series of ideas or a few pages ofinformation and play them back to himself. During the playback he couldthink in no other terms; he could not even correct, edit or improve thephrasing. It came back word for word with the faithful reproduction ofabsolute fidelity. Similarly, Martha could record a phase of informationand she, too, underwent the same repetition when her recording was playedback to her. 

But if Martha's recording were played through to James, utter confusioncame. It was a whirling maze of colors and odors, sound, taste and touch. 

It spoiled some of James Holden's hopes; he sought the way to mass-use, his plan was to employ a teacher to digest the information and then viathe Educator, impress the information upon many other brains each coupledto the machine. This would not work. 

He made an extra headset late in June and they tried it, sittingside-by-side and still it did not work. With Martha doing the reading, she got the full benefit of the machine and James emerged with a whirlinghead full of riotous colors and other sensations. At one point he hopedthat they might learn some subject by sitting side-by-side and readingthe text in unison, but from this they received the information horriblymingled with equal intensity of sensory noise. 

He did not abandon this hope completely. He merely put it aside as aproblem that he was not ready to study yet. He would re-open the questionwhen he knew more about the whole process. To know the whole processmeant studying many fields of knowledge and combining them into aresearch of his own. 

And so James entered the summer months as he'd entered them before; Timand Janet Fisher took off one day and returned the next afternoon with agreat gay show of "bringing the children home for the summer. "

Even in this day of multi-billion-dollar budgets and farm surpluses thatcost forty thousand dollars per hour for warehouse rental, twenty-fivehundred dollars is still a tidy sum to dangle before the eyes of anyindividual. This was the reward offered by Paul Brennan for anyinformation as to the whereabouts of James Quincy Holden. 

If Paul Brennan could have been honest, the information he could havesupplied would have provided any of the better agencies with enoughlead-material to track James Holden down in a time short enough to makethe reward money worth the effort. Similarly, if James Holden'scompetence had been no greater than Brennan's scaled-down description, he could not have made his own way without being discovered. 

Bound by his own guilt, Brennan could only fret. Everything includingtime, was running against him. 

And as the years of James Holden's independence looked toward the sixth, Paul Brennan was willing to make a mental bet that the young man'seducation was deeper than ever. 

He would have won. James was close to his dream of making his play for anappearance in court and pleading for the law to recognize his competenceto act as an adult. He abandoned all pretense; he no longer hid throughthe winter months, and he did not keep Martha under cover either. Theywent shopping with Mrs. Fisher now and then, and if any of the folks inShipmont wondered about them, the fact that the children were in the careand keeping of responsible adults and were oh-so-quick on the uptakestopped anybody who might have made a fast call to the truant officer. 

Then in the spring of James Holden's twelfth year and the sixth ofhis freedom, he said to Tim Fisher. "How would you like to collecttwenty-five hundred dollars?"

Fisher grinned. "Who do you want killed?"

"Seriously. "

"Who wouldn't?"

"All right, drop the word to Paul Brennan and collect the reward. "

"Can you protect yourself?"

"I can quote Gladstone from one end to the other. I can cite every civilsuit regarding the majority or minority problem that has any importance. If I fail, I'll skin out of there in a hurry on the next train. But Ican't wait forever. "

"What's the gimmick, James?"

"First, I am sick and tired of running and hiding, and I think I've gotenough to prove my point and establish my rights. Second, there is a bitof cupidity here; the reward money is being offered out of my owninheritance so I feel that I should have some say in where it should go. Third, the fact that I steer it into the hands of someone I'd prefer toget it tickles my sense of humor. The trapper trapped; the bopper bopped;the sapper hoist by his own petard. "

"And--?"

"It isn't fair to Martha, either. So the sooner we get this whole affairsettled, the sooner we can start to move towards a reasonable way oflife. "

"Okay, but how are we going to work it? I can't very well turn up bymyself, you know. "

"Why not?"

"People would think I'm a heel. "

"Let them think so. They'll change their opinion once the whole truth isknown. " James smiled. "It'll also let you know who your true friendsare. "

"Okay. Twenty-five hundred bucks and a chance at the last laugh soundsgood. I'll talk it over with Janet. "

That night they buried Charles Maxwell, the Hermit of Martin's Hill. 

BOOK THREE:

THE REBEL

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In his years of searching, Paul Brennan had followed eleven fruitlessleads. It had cost him over thirteen hundred dollars and he was preparedto go on and on until he located James Holden, no matter how much ittook. He fretted under two fears, one that James had indeed suffered amishap, and the other that James might reveal his secret in a dramaticannouncement, or be discovered by some force or agency that would placethe whole process in hands that Paul Brennan could not reach. 

The registered letter from Tim Fisher culminated this six years offrantic search. Unlike the previous leads, this spoke with authority, named names, gave dates, and outlined sketchily but adequately theoperations of the young man in very plausible prose. Then the letter wenton in the manner of a man with his foot in a cleft stick; the writer didnot approve of James Holden's operations since they involved his wife andnewly-adopted daughter, but since wife and daughter were fond of JamesHolden, the writer could not make any overt move to rid his household ofthe interfering young man. Paul Brennan was asked to move with cautionand in utter secrecy, even to sending the reward in cash to a specialpost-office box. 

Paul Brennan's reaction was a disappointment to himself. He neither feltgreat relief nor the desire to exult. He found himself assaying his owncalmness and wondering why he lacked emotion over this culmination of somany years of futile effort. He re-read the letter carefully to see ifthere were something hidden in the words that his subconscious hadcaught, but he found nothing that gave him any reason to believe thatthis letter was a false lead. It rang true; Brennan could understand TimFisher's stated reaction and the man's desire to collect. Brennan evensuspected that Fisher might use the reward money for his own privatepurpose. 

It was not until he read the letter for the third time that he saw thesuggestion to move with caution and secrecy not as its stated request toprotect the writer, but as an excellent advice for his own guidance. 

And then Paul Brennan realized that for six years he had beenconcentrating upon the single problem of having James Holden returned tohis custody, and in that concentration he had lost sight of the moreimportant problem of achieving his true purpose of gaining control of theHolden Educator. The letter had not been the end of a long quest, butjust the signal to start. 

Paul Brennan of course did not give a fig for the Holden Estate nor thewelfare of James. His only interest was in the machine, and the secret ofthat machine was locked in the young man's mind and would stay that wayunless James could be coerced into revealing it. The secret indubitablyexisted as hardware in the machine rebuilt in the house on Martin's Hill, but Brennan guessed that any sight of him would cause James to repeat hisjob of destruction. Brennan also envisioned a self-destructive devicethat would addle the heart of the machine at the touch of a button, perhaps booby-traps fitted like burglar alarms that would ruin themachine at the first touch of an untrained hand. 

Brennan's mind began to work. He must plan his moves carefully to acquirethe machine by stealth. He toyed with the idea of murder and rejected itas too dangerous to chance a repeat, especially in view of the existenceof the rebuilt machine. 

Brennan read the letter again. It gave him to think. James had obviouslysucceeded in keeping his secret by imparting it to a few people that hecould either trust or bind to him, perhaps with the offer of educationvia the machine, which James and only James maintained in hiding couldprovide. Brennan could not estimate the extent of James Holden'sknowledge but it was obvious that he was capable of some extremelyintelligent planning. He was willing to grant the boy the likelihood ofbeing the equal of a long and experienced campaigner, and the fact thatJames was in the favor of Tim Fisher's wife and daughter meant that thelad would be able to call upon them for additional advice. Brennancounted the daughter Martha in this planning program, most certainlyJames would have given the girl an extensive education, too. Everythingadded up, even to Tim Fisher's resentment. 

But there was not time to ponder over the efficiency of James Holden'soperations. It was time for Paul Brennan to cope, and it seemed sensibleto face the fact that Paul Brennan alone could not plot the illegalgrab of the Holden Educator and at the same time masquerade as thedeeply-concerned loving guardian. He could label James Holden's littlegroup as an organization, and if he was to combat this organization heneeded one himself. 

Paul Brennan began to form a mental outline of his requirements. First hehad to figure out the angle at which to make his attack. Once he knew thelegal angle, then he could find ruthless men in the proper position ofauthority whose ambitions he could control. He regretted that the elderHolden had not allowed him to study civil and criminal law along with hiscourses in real estate and corporate law. As it was, Brennan was unsureof his legal rights, and he could not plan until he had researched theproblem most thoroughly. 

To his complete surprise, Paul Brennan discovered that there was no lawthat would stay an infant from picking up his marbles and leaving home. So long as the minor did not become a ward of responsibility of theState, his freedom was as inviolable as the freedom of any adult. Theuniversal interest in missing-persons cases is overdrawn because of theirdramatic appeal. In every case that comes to important notice, themissing person has left some important responsibilities that had to besatisfied. A person with no moral, legal, or ethical anchor has everyright to pack his suitcase and catch the next conveyance for partsunknown. If he is found by the authorities after an appeal by friends orrelatives, the missing party can tell the police that, Yes he did leavehome and, No he isn't returning and, furthermore he does not wish hiswhereabouts made known; and all the authorities can report is that themissing one is hale, happy, and hearty and wants to stay missing. 

Under the law, a minor is a minor and there is no proposition thatdivides one degree of minority from another. Major decisions, such asvoting, the signing of binding contracts of importance, the determinationof a course of drastic medical treatment, are deemed to be matters thatrequire mature judgment. The age for such decisions is arbitrarily set atage twenty-one. Acts such as driving a car, sawing a plank, or buyingfood and clothing are considered to be "skills" that do not requirejudgment and therefore the age of demarcation varies with the state andthe state legislature's attitude. 

James was a minor; presumably he could repudiate contracts signed while aminor, at the time he reached the age of twenty-one. From a practicalstandpoint, however, anything that James contracted for was expendableand of vital necessity. He could not stop payment on a check for hisrent, nor claim that he had not received proper payment for his storiesand demand damages. Paul Brennan might possibly interfere with the smoothoperation by squawking to the bank that Charles Maxwell was a phantomfront for the minor child James Holden. And bankers, being bankers, mightvery well clog up the operation with a lot of questions. But there wasthe possibility that James Holden, operating through the agency of anadult, would switch his method. He could even go so far as to bringBrennan to lawsuit to have Brennan stopped from his interference. Childor not, James Holden had been running a checking account by mail for anumber of years which could be used as evidence of his good faith andability. 

Indeed, the position of James Holden was so solid that Brennan could onlyplead personal interest and personal responsibility in the case forsecuring a writ of habeas corpus to have the person of James Holdenreturned to his custody and protection. And this of itself was a bit onthe dangerous side. A writ of habeas corpus will, by law, cause thedelivery of the person to the right hands, but there is no part of thewrit that can be used to guarantee that the person will remainthereafter. If Brennan tried to repeat this program, James Holden wasvery apt to suggest either the rather rare case of Barratry orMaintenance against Brennan. Barratry consists of the constant harassmentof a citizen by the serial entry of lawsuit after lawsuit against him, each of which he must defend to the loss of time and money--and the tyingup of courts and their officials. Maintenance is the re-opening of thesame suit and its charges time after time in court after court. One needonly be sure of the attitude of the plaintiff to strike back; if he isinterested in heckling the defendant and this can be demonstrated inevidence, the heckler is a dead duck. Such a response would surely damagePaul Brennan's overt position as a responsible, interested, affectionateguardian of his best friends' orphaned child. 

Then to put the top on the bottle, James Holden had crossed state linesin his flight from home. This meant that the case was not the simpleproposition of appearing before a local magistrate and filing anemotional appeal. It was interstate. It smacked of extradition, and JamesHolden had committed no crime in either state. 

To Paul Brennan's qualifications for his henchmen, he now added the needfor flouting the law if the law could not be warped to fit his need. 

Finding a man with ambition, with a casual disregard for ethics, is nothard in political circles. Paul Brennan found his man in Frank Manison, a rising figure in the office of the District Attorney. Manison hadgubernatorial ambitions, and he was politically sharp. He personallyconducted only those cases that would give him ironclad publicity; hepreferred to lower the boom on a lighter charge than chance an acquittal. Manison also had a fine feeling for anticipating public trends, a senseof the drama, and an understanding of public opinion. 

He granted Brennan a conference of ten minutes, and knowing from longexperience that incoming information flows faster when it is notinterrupted, he listened attentively, oiling and urging the flow byfacial expressions of interest and by leaning forward attentivelywhenever a serious point was about to come forth. Brennan explained aboutJames Holden, his superior education, and what it had enabled the lad todo. He explained the education not as a machine but as a "system ofstudy" devised by James Holden's parents, feeling that it was better toleave a few stones lying flat and unturned for his own protection. Manison nodded at the end of the ten-minute time-limit, used his deskinterphone to inform his secretary that he was not to be disturbed untilfurther notice (which also told Paul Brennan that he was indeedinterested) and then said:

"You know you haven't a legal leg to stand on, Brennan. "

"So I find out. It seems incredible that there isn't any law set up tocontrol the activity of a child. "

"Incredible? No, Brennan, not so. To now it hasn't been necessary. Peoplejust do not see the necessity of laws passed to prevent something thatisn't being done anyway. The number of outmoded laws, ridiculous laws, and laws passed in the heat of public emotion are always a subject forpublic ridicule. If the state legislature were to pass a law stating thatany child under fourteen may not leave home without the consent of hisparents, every opposition newspaper in the state would howl about thewaste of time and money spent on ridiculous legislation passed to governactivities that are already under excellent control. They would poll thestate and point out that for so many million children under age fourteen, precisely zero of them have left home to set up their own housekeeping. One might just as well waste the taxpayer's money by passing a law thatconfirms the Universal Law of Gravity. 

"But that's neither here nor there, " he said. "Your problem is to figureout some means of exerting the proper control over this intelligentinfant. "

"My problem rises higher than that, " said Brennan ruefully. "He dislikesme to the point of blind, unreasonable hatred. He believes that I am theparty responsible for the death of his parents and furthermore that theact was deliberate. Tantamount to a charge of first-degree murder. "

"Has he made that statement recently?" asked Manison. 

"I would hardly know. "

"When last did you hear him say words to that effect?"

"At the time, following the accidental death of his parents, James Holdenran off to the home of his grandparents. Puzzled and concerned, theycalled me as the child's guardian. I went there to bring him back to hishome. I arrived the following morning and it was during that session thatJames Holden made the accusation. "

"And he has not made it since, to the best of your knowledge?"

"Not that I know of. "

"Hardly make anything out of that. Seven years ago. Not a formal charge, only a cry of rage, frustration, hysterical grief. The complaint of afive-year-old made under strain could hardly be considered slanderous. It is too bad that the child hasn't broken any laws. Your success incollecting him the first time was entirely due to the associations he'dmade with this automobile thief--Caslow, you said his name was. We can'tgo back to that. The responsibility has been fixed, I presume, upon JakeCaslow in another state. Brennan, you've a real problem: How can you besure that this James Holden will disclose his secret system of study evenif we do succeed in cooking up some legal means of placing him and keephim in your custody?"

Brennan considered, and came to the conclusion that now was the time tolet another snibbet of information go. "The system of study consists ofan electronic device, the exact nature of which I do not understand. Theentire machine is large and cumbersome. In it, as a sort of 'heart, ' is aspecial circuit. Without this special circuit the thing is no more thanan expensive aggregation of delicate devices that could be used elsewherein electronics. One such machine stands unused in the Holden Home becausethe central circuit was destroyed beyond repair or replacement by youngJames Holden. He destroyed it because he felt that this secret shouldremain his own, the intellectual inheritance from his parents. There isone other machine--undoubtedly in full function and employed daily--inthe house on Martin's Hill under James Holden's personal supervision. "

"Indeed? How, may I ask?"

"It was rebuilt by James Holden from plans, specifications, andinformation engraved on his brain by his parents through the use of theirfirst machine. Unfortunately, I have every reason to believe that thisnew machine is so booby-trapped and tamper-protected that the firstinterference by someone other than James Holden will cause itsdestruction. "

"Um. It might be possible to impound this machine as a device of highinterest to the State, " mused Manison. "But if we start any proceedingas delicate as that, it will hit every newspaper in the country and ouradvantage will be lost. "

"Technically, " said Paul Brennan, "you don't know that such a machineexists. But as soon as young Holden realizes that you know about hismachine, he'll also know that you got the information from me. " Brennansat quietly and thought for a moment. "There's another distressing angle, too, " he said at last. "I don't think that there is a soul on earth whoknows how to run this machine but James Holden. Steal it or impound it ortake it away legally, you've got to know how it runs. I doubt that we'dfind a half-dozen people on the earth who'd willingly sit in a chair witha heavy headset on, connected to a devilish aggregation of electricalmachinery purported to educate the victim, while a number of fumblersexperimented with the dials and the knobs and the switches. No sir, somesort of pressure must be brought to bear upon the youngster. "

"Um. Perhaps civic pride? Might work. Point out to him that he is incontrol of a device that is essential to the security of the UnitedStates. That he is denying the children of this country the right totheir extensive education. Et cetera?"

"Could be. But how are you going to swing it, technically in ignorance ofthe existence of such a machine?"

"Were I a member of the Congressional Committee on Education, I couldinvestigate the matter of James Holden's apparent superiority ofintellect. "

"And hit Page One of every newspaper in the country, " sneered Brennan. 

"Well, I'm not, " snapped Manison angrily. "However, there is a way, perhaps several ways, once we find the first entering wedge. After all, Brennan, the existence of a method of accelerating the course ofeducational training is of the utmost importance to the future of notonly the United States of America, but the entire human race. Once I canlocate some plausible reason for asking James Holden the first questionabout anything, the remainder of any session can be so slanted as tobring into the open any secret knowledge he may have. We, to make thedisclosure easier, shall hold any sessions in the strictest of secrecy. We can quite readily agree with James Holden's concern over thelong-range effectiveness of his machine and state that secrecy isnecessary lest headstrong factions take the plunge into something thatcould be very detrimental to the human race instead of beneficial. Frankly, Mr. Brennan, " said Manison with a wry smile, "I should like toborrow that device for about a week myself. It might help me locate someof the little legal points that would help me. " He sighed. "Yes, " he saidsadly, "I know the law, but no one man knows all of the finer points. Lord knows, " he went on, "if the law were a simple matter of behaving asit states, we'd not have this tremendous burden. But the law is subjectto interpretation and change and argument and precedent--Precedent? Um, here we may have an interesting angle, Brennan. I must look into it. "

"Precedent?"

"Yes, indeed. Any ruling that we were to make covering the right of aseven, eight, or nine year old to run his own life as he sees fit will bea ruling that establishes precedent. "

"And--?"

"Well, up to now there's no ruling about such a case; no child of ten hasever left home to live as he prefers. But this James Holden is apparentlycapable of doing just that--and any impartial judge deliberating such acase would find it difficult to justify a decision that placed thecompetent infant under the guardianship and protection of an adult who isless competent than the infant. "

Brennan's face turned dark. "You're saying that this Holden kid issmarter than I am?"

"Sit down and stop sputtering, " snapped Manison. "What were you doing atsix years old, Brennan? Did you have the brains to leave home and protectyourself by cooking up the plausible front of a very interestingcharacter such as the mythical Hermit of Martin's Hill? Were you writingboys' stories for a nationwide magazine of high circulation andaccredited quality? Could you have planned your own dinner and preparedit, or would you have dined on chocolate bars washed down with strawberrypop? Stop acting indignant. Start thinking. If for no other reason thanthat we don't want to end up selling pencils on Halstead Street becausewe're not quite bright, we've got to lay our hands on that machine. We'vegot to lead, not follow. Yet at the present time I'll wager that yourJames Holden is going to give everybody concerned a very rough time. Now, let me figure out the angles and pull the wires. One thing that nobodycan learn from any electronic machine is how to manipulate the componentpeople that comprise a political machine. I'll be in touch with you, Brennan. "

 * * * * *

The ring at the door was Chief of Police Joseph Colling and anothergentleman. Janet Fisher answered the door, "Good evening, Mr. Colling. Come in?"

"Thank you, " said Colling politely. "This is Mr. Frank Manison, from theoffice of the State Department of Justice. "

"Oh? Is something wrong?"

"Not that we know of, " replied Manison. "We're simply after someinformation. I apologize for calling at eight o'clock in the evening, butI wanted to catch you all under one roof. Is Mr. Fisher home? And thechildren?"

"Why, yes. We're all here. " Janet stepped aside to let them enter theliving room, and then called upstairs. Mr. Manison was introduced aroundand Tim Fisher said, cautiously, "What's the trouble here?"

"No trouble that we know of, " said Manison affably. "We're just aftersome information about the education of James Holden, a legal minor, whoseems never to have been enrolled in any school. "

"If you don't mind, " replied Tim Fisher, "I'll not answer anythingwithout the advice of my attorney. "

Janet Fisher gasped. 

Tim turned with a smile. "Don't you like lawyers, honey?"

"It isn't that. But isn't crying for a lawyer an admission of some sort?"

"Sure is, " replied Tim Fisher. "It's an admission that I don't know allof my legal rights. If lawyers come to me because they don't know allthere is to know about the guts of an automobile, I have every right tothe same sort of consultation in reverse. Agree, James?"

James Holden nodded. "The man who represents himself in court has a foolfor a client, " he said. "I think that's Daniel Webster, but I'm notcertain. No matter; it's right. Call Mr. Waterman, and until he arriveswe'll discuss the weather, the latest dope in high-altitude research, ornuclear physics. "

Frank Manison eyed the lad. "You're James Holden?"

"I am. "

Tim interrupted. "We're not answering _anything_, " he warned. 

"Oh, I don't mind admitting my identity, " said James. "I've committed nocrime, I've broken no law. No one can point to a single act of mine thatshows a shred of evidence to the effect that my intentions are nothonorable. Sooner or later this whole affair had to come to a showdown, and I'm prepared to face it squarely. "

"Thank you, " said Manison. "Now, without inviting comment, let me explainone important fact. The state reserves the right to record marriages, births, and deaths as a simple matter of vital statistics. We feel thatwe have every right to the compiling of the census, and we can justifyour feeling. I am here because of some apparent irregularities, recordsof which we do not have. If these apparent irregularities can beexplained to our satisfaction for the record, this meeting will be ended. Now, let's relax until your attorney arrives. "

"May I get you some coffee or a highball?" asked Janet Fisher. 

"Coffee, please, " agreed Frank Manison. Chief Colling nodded quietly. They relaxed over coffee and small talk for a half hour. The arrival ofWaterman, Tim Fisher's attorney, signalled the opening of the discussion. 

"First, " said Manison, his pencil poised over a notebook, "Who lives herein permanent residence, and for how long?" He wrote rapidly as they toldhim. "The house is your property?" he asked Tim, and wrote again. "Andyou are paying a rental on certain rooms of this house?" he asked James, who nodded. 

"Where did you attend school?" he asked James. 

"I did not. "

"Where did you get your education?"

"By a special course in home study. "

"You understand that under the state laws that provide for the educationof minor children, the curriculum must be approved by the state?"

"I do. "

"And has it?"

Waterman interrupted. "Just a moment, Mr. Manison. In what way must thecurriculum be approved? Does the State study all textbooks and the mannerin which each and every school presents them? Or does the State merelyinsist that the school child be taught certain subjects?"

"The State merely insists that certain standards of education beobserved. "

"In fact, " added James, "the State does not even insist that the child_learn_ the subjects, realizing that some children lack the intellect tobe taught certain subjects completely and fully. Let's rather say thatthe State demands that school children be exposed to certain subjects inthe hope that they 'take. ' Am I not correct?"

"I presume you are. "

"Then I shall answer your question. In my home study, I have indeedfollowed the approved curriculum by making use of the approved textbooksin their proper order. I am aware of the fact that this is not the sameState, but if you will consult the record of my earlier years inattendance at a school selected by my legal guardian, you'll find that Ipassed from preschool grade to Fourth Grade in a matter of less than halfa year, at the age of five-approaching-six. If this matter is subject toquestion, I'll submit to any course of extensive examination youreducators care to prepare. The law regarding compulsory education in thisstate says that the minor child must attend school until either the ageof eighteen, or until he has completed the standard eight years ofgrammar school and four years of high school. I shall then stipulate thatthe suggested examination be limited to the schooling of a high schoolgraduate. "

"For the moment we'll pass this over. We may ask that you do prove yourcontention, " said Manison. 

"You don't doubt that I can, do you?" asked James. 

Manison shook his head. "No, at this moment I have no doubt. "

"Then why do you bother asking?"

"I am here for a rather odd reason, " said Manison. "I've told you thereservations that the State holds, which justify my presence. Now, it ispatently obvious that you are a very competent young man, James Holden. The matter of making your own way is difficult, as many adults cantestify. To have contrived a means of covering up your youth, in additionto living a full and competent life, demonstrates an ability above andbeyond the average. Now, the State is naturally interested in anythingthat smacks of acceleration of the educational period. Can you understandthat?"

"Naturally. None but a dolt would avoid education. "

"Then you agree with our interest?"

"I--"

"Just a moment, James, " said Waterman. "Let's put it that you understandtheir interest, but that you do not necessarily agree. "

"I understand, " said James. 

"Then you must also understand that this 'course of study' by which youclaim the equal of a high-school education at the age of ten or eleven(perhaps earlier) must be of high importance. "

"I understand that it might, " agreed James. 

"Then will you explain why you have kept this a secret?"

"Because--"

"Just a moment, " said Waterman again. "James, would you say that yourmethod of educating yourself is completely perfected?"

"Not completely. "

"Not perfected?" asked Manison. "Yet you claim to have the education of ahigh-school graduate?"

"I so claim, " said James. "But I must also point out that I have acquireda lot of mish-mash in the course of this education. For instance, it isone thing to study English, its composition, spelling, vocabulary, construction, rules and regulations. One must learn these things if he isto be considered literate. In the course of such study, one also becomesacquainted with English literature. With literature it is enough tomerely be acquainted with the subject. One need not know the works ofChaucer or Spenser intimately--unless one is preparing to specialize inthe English literature of the writers of that era. Frankly, sir, I shouldhate to have my speech colored by the flowery phrases of that time, andthe spelling of that day would flunk me out of First Grade if I made useof it. In simple words, I am still perfecting the method. "

"Now, James, " went on Waterman, "have you ever entertained the idea ofnot releasing the details of your method?"

"Occasionally, " admitted James. 

"Why?"

"Until we know everything about it, we can not be certain that itsultimate effect will be wholly beneficial. "

"So, you see, " said Waterman to Manison, "the intention is reasonable. Furthermore, we must point out that this system is indeed the inventioncreated by the labor and study of the parents of James Holden, and assuch it is a valuable property retained by James Holden as his own by theright of inheritance. The patent laws of the United States are clear, itis the many conflicting rulings that have weakened the system. The lawitself is contained in the Constitution of the United States, whichprovides for the establishment of a Patent Office as a means to encourageinventors by granting them the exclusive right to the benefits of theirlabor for a reasonable period of time--namely seventeen years withprovision for a second period under renewal. "

"Then why doesn't he make use of it?" demanded Manison. 

"Because the process, like so many another process, can be copied andused by individuals without payment, and because there hasn't been apatent suit upheld for about forty years, with the possible exceptionof Major Armstrong's suit against the Radio Corporation of America, settled in Armstrong's favor after about twenty-five years of expensivelitigation. A secret is no longer a secret these days, once it has beenwritten on a piece of paper and called to the attention of a few millionpeople across the country. "

"You realize that anything that will give an extensive education at anearly age is vital to the security of the country. "

"We recognize that responsibility, sir, " said Waterman quietly. "We alsorecognize that in the hands of unscrupulous men, the system could bemisused. We also realize its dangers, and we are trying to avoid thembefore we make the announcement. We are very much aware of the important, although unfortunate, fact that James Holden, as a minor, can have hisrights abridged. Normally honest men, interested in the protection ofyouth, could easily prevent him from using his own methods, thusdepriving him of the benefits that are legally his. This could bedone under the guise of protection, and the result would be thesuper-education of the protectors--whose improving intellectualcompetence would only teach them more and better reasons for deprivingthe young man of his rights. James Holden has a secret, and he has aright to keep that secret, and his only protection is for him to continueto keep that secret inviolate. It was his parents' determination not torelease this process upon the world until they were certain of theresults. James is a living example of their effort; they conceived himfor the express purpose of providing a virgin mind to educate by theirmethods, so that no outside interference would becloud their results. Ifthis can be construed as the illegal experimentation on animals under theanti-vivisection laws, or cruelty to children, it was their act, not his. Is that clear?"

"It is clear, " replied Manison. "We may be back for more discussion onthis point. I'm really after information, not conducting a case, youknow. "

"Well, you have your information. "

"Not entirely. We've another point to consider, Mr. Waterman. It isadmittedly a delicate point. It is the matter of legal precedent. Granting everything you say is true--and I'll grant that hypotheticallyfor the purpose of this argument--let's assume that James Holdenultimately finds his process suitable for public use. Now, happily tothis date James had not broken any laws. He is an honorable individual. Let's now suppose that in the near future, someone becomes educated byhis process and at the age of twelve or so decided to make use of hisadvanced intelligence in nefarious work?"

"All right. Let's suppose. "

"Then you tell me who is responsible for the person of James Holden?"

"He is responsible unto himself. "

"Not under the existing laws, " said Manison. "Let's consider James justas we know him now. Who says, 'go ahead, ' if he has an attack of acuteappendicitis?"

"In the absence of someone to take the personal responsibility, " saidJames quietly, "the attending doctor would toss his coin to see whetherhis Oath of Hippocrates was stronger than his fear of legal reprisals. It's been done before. But let's get to the point, Mr. Manison. What doyou have in mind?"

"You've rather pointedly demonstrated your preference to live here ratherthan with your legally-appointed guardian. "

"Yes. "

"Well, young man, I suggest that we get this matter settled legally. Youare not living under the supervision of your guardian, but you are indeedliving under the auspices of people who are not recognized by law asholding the responsibility for you. "

"So far there's been no cause for complaint. "

"Let's keep it that way, " smiled Manison. "I'll ask you to accept a writof habeas corpus, directing you to show just cause why you should not bereturned to the custody of your guardian. "

"And what good will that do?"

"If you can show just cause, " said Manison, "the Court will followestablished precedent and appoint Mr. And Mrs. Fisher as your responsiblelegal guardians--if that is your desire. "

"Can this be done?" asked Mrs. Fisher. 

"It's been done before, time and again. The State is concerned primarilywith the welfare of the child; children have been legally removed fromnatural but unsuitable parents, you know. " He looked distressed for amoment and then went on, "The will of the deceased is respected, but thelaw recognizes that it is the living with which it must be primarilyconcerned, that mistakes can be made, and that such errors in judgmentmust be rectified in the name of the public weal. "

"I've been--" started James but Attorney Waterman interrupted him:

"We'll accept the service of your writ, Mr. Manison. " And to James afterthe man had departed: "Never give the opposition an inkling of what youhave in mind--and always treat anybody who is not in your retainer asopposition. "

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The case of Brennan vs. Holden opened in the emptied court room of JudgeNorman L. Carter, with a couple of bored members of the press wishingthey were elsewhere. For the first two hours, it was no more thanformalized outlining of the whole situation. 

The plaintiff identified himself, testified that he was indeed the legalguardian of the minor James Quincy Holden, entered a transcript of thewill in evidence, and then went on to make his case. He had provideda home atmosphere that was, to the best of his knowledge, the type ofhome atmosphere that would have been highly pleasing to the deceasedparents--especially in view of the fact that this home was one and thesame house as theirs and that little had been changed. He was supportedby the Mitchells. It all went off in the slow, cumbersome dry phraseologyof the legal profession and the sum and substance of two hours ofback-and-forth question-and-answer was to establish the fact that PaulBrennan had provided a suitable home for the minor, James Quincy Holden, and that the minor James Quincy Holden had refused to live in it and hadindeed demonstrated his objections by repeatedly absenting himselfwilfully and with premeditation. 

The next half hour covered a blow-by-blow account of Paul Brennan'sefforts to have the minor restored to him. The attorneys for both sideswere alert. Brennan's counsel did not even object when Waterman paved theway to show why James Holden wanted his freedom by asking Brennan:

"Were you aware that James Holden was a child of exceptional intellect?"

"Yes. "

"And you've testified that when you moved into the Holden home, you foundthings as the Holdens had provided them for their child?"

"Yes. "

"In your opinion, were these surroundings suitable for James Holden?"

"They were far too advanced for a child of five. "

"I asked specifically about James Holden. "

"James Holden was five years old. "

Waterman eyed Brennan with some surprise, then cast a glance at FrankManison, who sat at ease, calmly watching and listening with no sign ofobjection. Waterman turned back to Brennan and said, "Let's take one moreturn around Robin Hood's Barn, Mr. Brennan. First, James Holden was anexceptional child?"

"Yes. "

"And the nature of his toys and furnishings?"

"In my opinion, too advanced for a child of five. "

"But were they suitable for James Holden?"

"James Holden was a child of five. "

Waterman faced Judge Carter. "Your Honor, " he said, "I submit that thewitness is evasive. Will you direct him to respond to my direct questionwith a direct answer?"

"The witness will answer the question properly, " said Judge Carter witha slight frown of puzzlement, "unless counsel for the witness has someplausible objection?"'

"No objection, " said Manison. 

"Please repeat or rephrase your question, " suggested Judge Carter. 

"Mr. Brennan, " said Waterman, "you've testified that James was anexceptional child, advanced beyond his years. You've testified that thehome and surroundings provided by James Holden's parents reflected thisfact. Now tell me, were the toys, surroundings, and the home suitable forJames Holden?"

"In my opinion, no. "

"And subsequently you replaced them with stuff you believed more suitablefor a child of five, is that it?"

"Yes. I did, and you are correct. "

"To which he objected?"

"To which James Holden objected. "

"And what was your response to his objection?"

"I overruled his objection. "

"Upon what grounds?"

"Upon the grounds that the education and the experience of an adultcarries more wisdom than the desires of a child. "

"Now, Mr. Brennan, please listen carefully. During the months followingyour guardianship, you successively removed the books that James Holdenwas fond of reading, replaced his advanced Meccano set with a set ofmodular blocks, exchanged his oil-painting equipment for a child'scoloring books and standard crayolas, and in general you removedeverything interesting to a child with known superiority of intellect?"

"I did. "

"And your purpose in opening this hearing was to convince this Court thatJames Holden should be returned by legal procedure to such surroundings?"

"It is. "

"No more questions, " said Waterman. He sat down and rubbed his foreheadwith the palm of his right hand, trying to think. 

Manison said, "I have one question to ask of Janet Fisher, known formerlyas Mrs. Bagley. "

Janet Fisher was sworn and properly identified. 

"Now, Mrs. Fisher, prior to your marriage to Mr. Fisher and during yoursojourn with James Holden in the House on Martin's Hill, did yousupervise the activities of James Holden?"

"No, " she said. 

"Thank you, " said Manison. He turned to Waterman and waved him to anycross-questioning. 

Still puzzled, Waterman asked, "Mrs. Fisher, who did supervise the Houseon Martin's Hill?"

"James Holden. "

"During those years, Mrs. Fisher, did James Holden at any time conducthimself in any other manner but the actions of an honest citizen? I mean, did he perform or suggest the performance of any illegal act to yourknowledge?"

"No, he did not. "

Waterman turned to Judge Carter. "Your Honor, " he said, "it seems quiteapparent to me that the plaintiff in this case has given more testimonyto support the contentions of my client than they have to support theirown case. Will the Court honor a petition that the case be dismissed?"

Judge Norman L. Carter smiled slightly. "This is irregular, " he said. "You should wait for that petition until the plaintiff's counsel hasclosed his case, you know. " He looked at Frank Manison. "Any objection?"

Manison said, "Your Honor, I have permitted my client to be shown in thisquestionable light for no other purpose than to bring out the fact thatany man can make a mistake in the eyes of other men when in reality hewas doing precisely what he thought to be the best thing to do forhimself and for the people within his responsibility. The man who raiseshis child to be a roustabout is wrong in the eyes of his neighbor who israising his child to be a scientist, and vice versa. We'll accept thefact that James Holden's mind is superior. We'll point out that therehave been many cases of precocious children or child geniuses who make astrong mark in their early years and drop into oblivion by the timethey're twenty. Now, consider James Holden, sitting there discussingsomething with his attorney--I have no doubt in the world that he couldconjugate Latin verbs, discuss the effect of the Fall of Rome on WesternCivilization, and probably compute the orbit of an artificial satellite. But can James Holden fly a kite or shoot a marble? Has he ever had thefun of sliding into third base, or whittling on a peg, or any of theother enjoyable trivia of boyhood? Has he--"

"One moment, " said Judge Carter. "Let's not have an impassioned oration, counsel. What is your point?"

"James Holden has a legal guardian, appointed by law at the express willof his parents. Headstrong, he has seen fit to leave that protection. Heis fighting now to remain away from that protection. I can presume thatJames Holden would prefer to remain in the company of the Fishers where, according to Mrs. Fisher, he was not responsible to her whatsoever, butrather ran the show himself. I--"

"You can't make that presumption, " said Judge Carter. "Strike it from therecord. "

"I apologize, " said Manison. "But I object to dismissing this case untilwe find out just what James Holden has in mind for his future. "

"I'll hold Counsel Waterman's petition in abeyance until the point youmention is in the record, " said Judge Carter. "Counsel, are youfinished?"

"Yes, " said Manison. "I'll rest. "

"Mr. Waterman?"

Waterman said, "Your Honor, we've been directed to show just cause whyJames Holden should not be returned to the protection of his legalguardian. Counsel has implied that James Holden desires to be placed inthe legal custody of Mr. And Mrs. Fisher. This is a pardonable errorwhether it stands in the record or not. The fact is that James Holdendoes not need protection, nor does he want protection. To the contrary, James Holden petitions this Court to declare him legally competent sothat he may conduct his own affairs with the rights, privileges, andindeed, even the _risks_ taken by the status of adult. 

"I'll point out that the rules and laws that govern the control andprotection of minor children were passed by benevolent legislators toprevent exploitation, cruelty, and deprivation of the child's life bymen who would take advantage of his immaturity. However we have here ayoung man of twelve who has shown his competence to deal with the adultworld by actual practice. Therefore it is our contention that protectivelaws are not only unnecessary, but undesirable because they restrict theindividual from his desire to live a full and fruitful life. 

"To prove our contention beyond any doubt, I'll ask that James Holden besworn in as my first witness. "

Frank Manison said, "I object, Your Honor. James Holden is a minor andnot qualified under law to give creditable testimony as a witness. "

Waterman turned upon Manison angrily. "You really mean that you object tomy case _per se_. "

"That, too, " replied Manison easily. 

"Your Honor, I take exception! It is my purpose to place James Holden onthe witness stand, and there to show this Court and all the world that heis of honorable mind, properly prepared to assume the rights of an adult. We not only propose to show that he acted honorably, we shall show thatJames Holden consulted the law to be sure that whatever he did was notillegal. "

"Or, " added Manison, "was it so that he would know how close to the limithe could go without stepping over the line?"

"Your Honor, " asked Waterman, "can't we have your indulgence?"

"I object! The child is a minor. "

"I accept the statement!" stormed Waterman. "And I say that we intend toprove that this minor is qualified to act as an adult. "

"And, " sneered Manison, "I'll guess that one of your later arguments willbe that Judge Carter, having accepted this minor as qualified to deliversworn testimony, has already granted the first premise of your argument. "

"I say that James Holden has indeed shown his competence already byactually doing it!"

"While hiding under a false façade!"

"A façade forced upon him by the restrictive laws that he is petitioningthe Court to set aside in his case so that he need hide no longer. "

Frank Manison said, "Your Honor, how shall the case of James Holden bedetermined for the next eight or ten years if we do grant James Holdenthis legal right to conduct his own affairs as an adult? That we mustabridge the laws regarding compulsory education is evident. James Holdenis twelve years and five months old. Shall he be granted the right toenter a tavern to buy a drink? Will his request for a license to marry behonored? May he enter the polling place and cast his vote? The contentionof counsel that the creation of Charles Maxwell was a physical necessityis acceptable. But what happens without 'Maxwell'? Must we prepare a cardof identity for James Holden, stating his legal status, and renew itevery year like an automobile license because the youth will grow instature, add to his weight, and ultimately grow a beard? Must we enter onthis identification card the fact that he is legally competent to signcontracts, rent a house, write checks, and make his own decision aboutthe course of dangerous medical treatment--or shall we list those itemsthat he is not permitted to do such as drinking in a public place, casthis vote, or marry? This State permits a youth to drive an automobile atthe age of sixteen, this act being considered a skill rather than an actthat requires judgment. Shall James Holden be permitted to drive anautomobile even though he can not reach the foot pedals from any positionwhere he can see through the windshield?"

Judge Carter sat quietly. He said calmly, "Let the record show that Irecognize the irregularity of this procedure and that I permit it onlybecause of the unique aspects of this case. Were there a Jury, I woulddismiss them until this verbal exchange of views and personalities hassubsided. 

"Now, " he went on, "I will not allow James Holden to take the witnessstand as a qualified witness to prove that he is a qualified witness. I am sure that he can display his own competence with a flow of academicbrilliance, or his attorney would not have tried to place him upon thestand where such a display could have been demonstrated. Of moreimportance to the Court and to the State is an equitable dispositionof the responsibility to and over James Quincy Holden. "

Judge Norman L. Carter leaned forward and looked from Frank Manison toJames Holden, and then to Attorney Waterman. 

"We must face some awkward facts, " he said. "If I rule that he bereturned to Mr. Brennan, he will probably remain no longer than he findsit convenient, at which point he will behave just as if this Court hadnever convened. Am I not correct, Mr. Manison?"

"Your Honor, you are correct. However, as a member of the Department ofJustice of this State, I suggest that you place the responsibility in myhands. As an Officer of the Court, my interest would be to the bestinterest of the State rather than based upon experience, choice, oropinion as to what is better for a five-year-old or a child prodigy. Inother words, I would exert the control that the young man needed. At thesame time I would not make the mistakes that were made by Mr. Brennan'spersonal opinion of how a child should be reared. "

Waterman shouted, "I object, Your Honor. I object--"

Brennan leaped to his feet and cried, "Manison, you can't freeze meout--"

James Holden shrilled, "I won't! I won't!"

Judge Carter eyed them one by one, staring them into silence. Finally helooked at Janet Fisher and said, "May I also presume that you would behappy to resume your association with James Holden?"

She nodded and said, "I'd be glad to, " in a sincere voice. Tim Fishernodded his agreement. 

Brennan whirled upon them and snarled. "My reward money--" but he wasshoved down in his seat with a heavy hand by Frank Manison who snapped, "Your money bought what it was offered for. So now shut up, you utterimbecile!"

Judge Norman L. Carter cleared his throat and said, "This great concernover the welfare of James Holden is touching. We have Mr. Brennan alreadytwice a loser and yet willing to try it for three times. We have Mr. AndMrs. Fisher who are not dismayed at the possibility of having their homeoccupied by a headstrong youth whose actions they cannot control. We findone of the ambitious members of the District Attorney's Office offeringto take on an additional responsibility--all, of course, in the name ofthe State and the welfare of James Holden. Finally we have James Holdenwho wants no part of the word 'protection' and claims the ability to runhis own life. 

"Now it strikes me that assigning the responsibility for this youngman's welfare is by no means the reason why you all are present, and itsimilarly occurs to me that the young man's welfare is of considerablyless importance than the very interesting question of how and why thisyoung man has achieved so much. "

With a thoughtful expression, Judge Carter said, "James Holden, how didyou acquire this magnificent education at the tender age of twelve-plus?"

"I--"

"I object!" cried Frank Manison. "The minor is not qualified to givetestimony. "

"Objection overruled. This is not testimony. I have every right in theworld to seek out as much information from whatever source I may select;and I have the additional right to inspect the information I receive topass upon its competence and relevance. Sit down, counsel!"

Manison sat grumpily and Judge Carter eyed James again, and James took afull breath. This was the moment he had been waiting for. 

"Go on, James. Answer my question. Where did you come by your knowledge?"

 * * * * *

James Holden stood up. This was the question that had to arise; he wasonly surprised it had taken so long. 

He said calmly: "Your Honor, you may not ask that question. "

"I may not?" asked Judge Carter with a lift of his eyebrows. 

"No sir. You may not. "

"And just why may I not?"

"If this were a criminal case, and if you could establish that some of myknowledge were guilty knowledge, you could then demand that I reveal thesource of my guilty knowledge and under what circumstance it wasobtained. If I refused to disclose my source, I could then be held incontempt of court or charged with being an accessory to the corpus of thecrime. However, this is a court hearing to establish whether or not I amcompetent under law to manage my own affairs. How I achieve my mentalcompetence is not under question. Let us say that it is a process that ismy secret by the right of inheritance from my parents and as such it isvaluable to me so long as I can demand payment for its use. "

"This information may have a bearing on my ruling. "

"Your Honor, the acquisition of knowledge or information _per se_ isconcomitant with growing up. I can and will demonstrate that I have theequivalent of the schooling necessary to satisfy both this Court and theState Board of Education. I will state that my education has beenacquired by concentration and application in home study, and that I admitto attendance at no school. I will provide you or anybody else with alist of the books from which I have gleaned my education. But whether Ipractice Yoga, Dianetics, or write the lines on a sugarcoated pill andswallow it is my trade secret. It can not be extracted from me by anyprocess of the law because no illegality exists. "

"And what if I rule that you are not competent under the law, or withholdjudgment until I have had an opportunity to investigate these ways andmeans of acquiring an accelerated education?"

"I'll then go on record as asking you to disbar yourself from thishearing on the grounds that you are not an impartial judge of the justicein my case. "

"Upon what grounds?"

"Upon the grounds that you are personally interested in being providedwith a process whereby you may acquire an advanced education yourself. "

The judge looked at James thoughtfully for a moment. "And if I point outthat any such process is of extreme interest to the State and to theUnion itself, and as such must be disclosed?"

"Then I shall point out that your ruling is based upon a personal opinionbecause you don't know anything about the process. If I am ruled a legalminor you cannot punish me for not telling you my secrets, and if I amruled legally competent, I am entitled to my own decision. "

"You are within your rights, " admitted Judge Carter with some interest. "I shall not make such a demand. But I now ask you if this process ofyours is both safe and simple. "

"If it is properly used with some good judgment. "

"Now listen to me carefully, " said Judge Carter. "Is it not true thatyour difficulties in school, your inability to get along with yourclassmates, and your having to hide while you toiled for your livelihoodin secret--these are due to this extensive education brought aboutthrough your secret process?"

"I must agree, but--"

"You must agree, " interrupted Judge Carter. "Yet knowing these unpleasantthings did not deter you from placing, or trying to place, the daughterof your housekeeper in the same unhappy state. In other words, you hopedto make an intellectual misfit out of her, too?"

"I--now see here--"

"You see here! Did you or did you not aid in the education of MarthaBagley, now Martha Fisher?"

"Yes, I did, and--"

"Was that good judgment, James Holden?"

"What's wrong with higher education?" demanded James angrily. 

"Nothing, if it's acquired properly. "

"But--"

"Now listen again. If I were to rule in your favor, would Martha Fisherbe the next bratling in a long and everlasting line of infant supermenapplying to this and that and the other Court to have their legalmajority ruled, each of them pointing to your case as having establishedprecedence?"

"I have no way of predicting the future, sir. What may happen in thefuture really has no bearing in evidence here. "

"Granted that it does not. But I am not going to establish a dangerousprecedent that will end with doctors qualified to practice surgery beforethey are big enough to swing a stethoscope or attorneys that plead a casebefore they are out of short pants. I am going to recess this caseindefinitely with a partial ruling. First, until this process of yourscomes under official study, I am declaring you, James Holden, to be aWard of this State, under the jurisdiction of this Court. You will havethe legal competence to act in matters of skill, including the signing ofdocuments and instruments necessary to your continued good health. In allmatters that require mature judgment, you will report to this Court andall such questions shall be rendered after proper deliberation either inopen session or in chambers, depending upon the Court's opinion of theirimportance. The court stenographer will now strike all of the testimonygiven by James Holden from the record. "

"I object!" exploded Brennan's attorney, rising swiftly and with one handpressing Brennan down to prevent him from rising also. 

"All objections are overruled. The new Ward of the State will meet withme in my chambers at once. Court is adjourned. "

 * * * * *

The session was stormy but brief. Holden objected to everything, but thevoice of Judge Carter was loud and his stature was large; they overrodeJames Holden and compelled his attention. 

"We're out of the court, " snapped Judge Carter. "We no longer needobserve the niceties of court etiquette, so now shut up and listen!Holden, you are involved in a thing that is explosively dangerous. Youclaim it to be a secret, but your secret is slowly leaking out of yourcontrol. You asked for your legal competence to be ruled. Fine, but if Iallowed that, every statement made by you about your education would bein court record and your so-called secret that much more widespread. Howlong do you think it would have been before millions of people howled atyour door? Some of them yelping for help and some of them bitterlyobjecting to tampering with the immature brain? You'd be accused ofbrainwashing, of making monsters, of depriving children of their heritageof happiness--and in the same ungodly howl there would be voices asloudly damning you for not tossing your process into their laps. Andthere would be a number trying to get to you on the sly so that theycould get a head start over the rest. 

"You want your competence affirmed legally? James, you have not thestature nor the voice to fight them off. Even now, your little secret isin danger and you'll probably have to bribe a few wiseacres with a touchof accelerated knowledge to keep them from spilling the whole story, eventhough I've ruled your testimony incompetent and immaterial and strickenfrom the record. Now, we'll study this system of yours under controlledconditions as your parents wanted, and we'll have professional help andeducated advice, and both you and your process shall be under theprotection of my Court, and when the time comes you shall receive thekudos and benefits from it. Understand?"

"Yes sir. "

"Good. Now, as my first order, you go back to Shipmont and pack yourgear. You'll report to my home as soon as you've made all thearrangements. There'll be no more hiding out and playing your littleprocess in secret either from Paul Brennan--yes, I know that you believethat he was somehow instrumental in the death of your parents but have noshred of evidence that would stand in court--or the rest of the world. Isthat, and everything else I've said in private, very clear?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Good. Now, be off with you. And do not hesitate to call upon me if thereis any interference whatsoever. "

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Judge Carter insisted and won his point that James Holden acceptresidence in his home. 

He did not turn a hair when the trucks of equipment arrived from thehouse on Martin's Hill; he already had room for it in the cellar. Hecheerfully allowed James the right to set it up and test it out. Herespected James Holden's absolute insistence that no one be permitted totouch the special circuit that was the heart of the entire machine. JudgeCarter also counter-requested--and enforced the request--that he beallowed to try the machinery out. He took a simple reading course inhigher mathematics, after discovering that Holden's machine would notteach him how to play the violin. (Judge Carter already played theviolin--but badly. )

Later, the judge committed to memory the entire book of Bartlett's FamousQuotations despite the objection of young Holden that he was clutteringup his memory with a lot of useless material. The Judge learned (as Jameshad learned earlier) that the proper way to store such information in thememory was to read the book with the machine turned in "stand-by" untilsome section was encountered that was of interest. Using this method, thejudge picked and pecked at the Holy Bible, a number of documents thatlooked like important governmental records, and a few books in modernhistory. 

Then there came other men. First was a Professor Harold White from theState Board of Education who came to study both Holden and Holden'smachinery and what it did. Next came a Dr. Persons who said very littlebut made diagrams and histograms and graphs which he studied. The thirdwas a rather cheerful fellow called Jack Cowling who was more interestedin James Holden's personal feelings than he was in the machine. Hestudied many subjects superficially and watched the behavior of youngHolden as Holden himself studied subjects recommended by Professor White. 

White had a huge blackboard installed on the cellar wall opposite themachine, and he proceeded to fill the board with block outlines filledwith crabbed writing and odd-looking symbols. The whole was meaninglessto James Holden; it looked like the organization chart of a largecorporation but it contained no names or titles. The arrival of each newvisitor caused changes in the block diagram. 

These arrivals went at their project with stop watches and slide rules. They calibrated themselves and James with the cold-blooded attitude ofracetrack touts clocking their favorite horses. Where James had simplytaken what he wanted or what he could at any single sitting, then letit settle in his mind before taking another dose of unpremeditatedmagnitude, these fellows ascertained the best effectiveness of eachapplication to each of them. They tried taking long terms under themachine and then they measured the time it took for the installedinformation to sink in and settle into usable shape. Then they triedshorter and shorter sittings and measured the correspondingly shortersettling times. They found out that no two men were alike, nor were anytwo subjects. They discovered that a man with an extensive educationalready could take a larger sitting and have the new informationavailable for mental use in a shorter settling time than a man whoseeducation had been sketchy or incomplete. 

They brought in men who had either little or no mathematics and gave themcourses in advanced subjects. Afterwards they provided the foundationmathematics and they calibrated and measured the time it took for thehigher subject to be understood as it aligned its information to thewhole. Men came with crude English and bluntly read the dictionary andthe proper rules of grammar and they were checked to see if their earlybad-speech habits were corrected, and to what degree the Holden machinecould be made to help repair the damage of a lifelong ingrained set oferrors. They sent some of these boys through comparison dictionaries inforeign tongues and then had their language checked by specialists whowere truly polylingual. There were some who spoke fluent English but noother tongue; these progressed into German with a German-to-Englishcomparison dictionary, and then into French via a German-to-Frenchcomparison and were finally checked out in French by French-speakingexaminers. 

And Professor White's block diagram grew complex, and Dr. Persons'shistograms filled pages and pages of his broad notebooks. 

It was the first time that James Holden had ever seen a team ofresearchers plow into a problem, running a cold and icy scientificinvestigation to ascertain precisely how much cause produced how mucheffect. Holden, who had taken what he wanted or needed as the time came, began to understand the desirability of full and careful programming. Thewhole affair intrigued him and interested him. He plunged in with a willand gave them all the help he could. 

He had no time to be bored, and he did not mark the passage of time untilhe arrived at his thirteenth birthday. 

Then one night shortly after his birthday, James Holden discovered womenindirectly. He had his first erotic dream. 

We shall not go into the details of this midnight introduction to thearrival of manhood, for the simple reason that if we dwell on thesubject, someone is certain to attempt a dream-analysis and come up withsome flanged-up character-study or personality-quirk that really hasnothing to do with the mind or body of James Holden. The truth is thathis erotic dream was pleasantly stirring, but not entirely satisfactory. It was fun while it lasted, but it didn't last very long. It awakened himto the realization that knowledge is not the end-all of life, and that afull understanding of the words, the medical terms, and the biologyinvolved did not tell him a thing about this primary drive of all life. 

His total grasp of even the sideline issues was still dim. He came to apartial understanding of why Jake Caslow had entertained late visitors ofthe opposite sex, but he still could not quite see the reason why Jakekept the collection of calendar photographs and paintings hung up aroundthe place. Crude jokes and rude talk heard long years before and dimlyremembered did not have much connection with the subject. To JamesHolden, a "tomato" was still a vegetable, although he knew that somebotanists were willing to argue that the tomato was really a fruit. 

For many days he watched Judge Carter and his wife with a criticalcuriosity that their childless life had never known before. James foundthat they did not act as if something new and strangely thrilling hadjust hit the known universe. He felt that they should know about it. Despite the fact that he knew everything that his textbooks could tellhim about sex and copulation he still had the quaint notion that thereason why Judge Carter and his wife were childless was because they hadnot yet gotten around to Doing It. He made no attempt to correlate thisoddity with its opposite in Jake Caslow's ladies of the night who seemedto go on their merry way without conceiving. 

He remembered the joking parry-and-thrust of that midnight talk betweenTim Fisher and Janet Bagley but it made no sense to him still. But as hepondered the multitude of puzzlements, some of the answers fell partlyinto place just as some of the matching pieces of a jigsaw puzzle may lieclose to one another when they are dumped out of the box. Very dimlyJames began to realize that this sort of thing was not New, but to thecontrary it had been going on for a long, long time. So long in fact thatneither Tim Fisher nor Janet Bagley had found it necessary to statedesire and raise objection respectively in simple clear sentencescontaining subject, verb, and object. This much came to him and itbothered him even more, now that he understood that they were bandyingtheir meanings lightly over a subject so vital, so important, so--socompletely personal. 

Then, in that oddly irrational corner of his brain that neither knowledgenor information had been adequate to rationalize nor had experiencearrived to supply the explanation, James Holden's limited but growingcomprehension arrived at a conclusion that was reasonable within itslimited framework. Judge Carter and his wife occupied separate bedroomsand had therefore never Done It. Conversely, Tim and Janet Fisher fromtheir midnight discussion obviously Knew What It Was All About. Jameswondered whether they had Done It yet, and he also wondered whether hecould tell by listening to their discussions and conversations now thatthey'd been married at least long enough to have Tried It. 

With a brand new and very interesting subject to study, James lostinterest in the program of concentrated research. James Holden found thatall he had to do to arrange a trip to Shipmont was to state his desire togo and the length of his visit. The judge deemed both reasonable, Mrs. Carter packed James a bag, and off he went. 

 * * * * *

The house on Martin's Hill was about the same, with some improvement suchas a coat of paint and some needed repair work. The grounds had beenworked over, but it was going to take a number of years of concentratedgardening to de-weed the tangled lawn and to cut the undergrowth in thethin woodsy back area where James had played in concealment. 

But the air inside was changed. Janet, as Mrs. Bagley, had been as closeto James Holden as any substitute mother could have been. Now she seemedpreoccupied and too busy with her own life to act more than pleasantlypolite. He could have been visiting the home of a friend instead ofreturning to the domicile he had created, in which he had provided herwith a home--for herself and a frightened little girl. She asked him howhe had been and what he was doing, but he felt that this was more amatter of taking up time than real interest. He had the feeling thatsomewhere deep inside, her soul was biting its fingernails. She spoke ofMartha with pride and hope, she asked how Judge Carter was making out andwhether Martha would be able to finish her schooling via Holden'smachine. 

James believed this was her problem. Martha had been educated far beyondher years. She could no more enter school now than he could; unwittinglyhe'd made Martha a misfit, too. So James tried to explain that part ofthe study undertaken in Judge Carter's program had been the question ofwhat to do about Martha. 

The professionals studying the case did not know yet whether Martha wouldremain ahead of her age group, or whether to let her loaf it out untilher age group caught up with her, or whether to give Martha everythingshe could take as fast as she could take it. This would make a femalecounterpart of James Holden to study. 

But knowing that there were a number of very brilliant scientists, educators, and psychologists working on Martha's problem did not cheer upMrs. Janet Fisher as much as James thought it should. Yet as he watchedher, he could not say that Tim Fisher's wife was _unhappy_. 

Tim, on the other hand, looked fine. James watched them together ascritically curious as he'd been in watching the Judge and Mrs. Carter. Tim was gentle with his wife, tender, polite, and more than willing towait on her. From their talk and chit-chat, James could detect nothing. There were still elisions, questions answered with a half-phrase, comments added with a disconnected word and replied in another wordthat--in cold print--would appear to have no bearing on the originalsubject. This sort of thing told James nothing. Judge Carter and his wifedid the same; if there were any difference to be noted it was only in thebasic subject materials. The judge and his wife were inclined more towarddiscussions of political questions and judicial problems, whereas Tim andJanet Fisher were more interested in music, movies, and the general trendof the automobile repair business; or more to the point, whether toexpand the present facility in Shipmont, to open another branchelsewhere, or to sell out to buy a really big operation in some sizablecity. 

James saw a change in Martha, too. It had been months since he came backhome to supervise the removal of his belongings. Now Martha had filledout. She was dressed in a shirt-and-skirt instead of the little jumperdresses James remembered. Martha's hair was lightly wavy instead oftrimmed short, and she was wearing a very faint touch of color on herlips. She wore tiny slippers with heels just a trifle higher than thealtitude recommended for a girl close to thirteen. 

Ultimately they fell into animated chatter of their own, just as theyalways had. There was a barrier between the pair of them and Martha'smother and stepfather--slightly higher than the usual barrier erectedbetween children and their adults because of their educational adventurestogether. They had covered reams and volumes together. Martha's motherwas interested in Holden's machine only when something specific came toher attention that she did not wish to forget such as a recipe or apattern, and one very extensive course that enabled her to add a columnof three-digit numbers by the whole lines instead of taking each columndigit by digit. Tim Fisher himself had deeper interests, but nearly allof them directed at making Tim Fisher a better manager of the automobilerepair business. There had been some discussion of the possibility thatTim Fisher might memorize some subject such as the names of all baseballplayers and their yearly and lifetime scoring, fielding, and playingaverages, training for him to go as a contestant on one of the big moneygiveaway shows. This never came to pass; Tim Fisher did not have anyspectacular qualities about him that would land him an invitation. SoTim's work with Holden's machine had been straightforward studies inmechanics and bookkeeping and business management--plus a fine repertoireof bawdy songs he had rung in on the sly and subsequently used atparties. 

James and Martha had taken all they wanted of education and availableinformation, sometimes with plan and the guidance of schoolbooks andsometimes simply because they found the subject of interest. In the pastthey'd had discussions of problems in understanding; they'd talked ofthings that parents and elders would have considered utterly impossibleto discuss with young minds. With this communion of interests, they fellback into their former pattern of first joining the general conversationpolitely and then gradually confining their remarks to one another untilthere were two conversations going on at the same time, one betweenJames and Martha and another between Janet and Tim. Again, the vocalinterference and cross-talk became too high, and it was Tim and Janet wholeft the living room to mix a couple of highballs and start dinner. 

The chatter continued, but now with a growing strain on the part of youngJames Holden. 

He wanted to switch to a more personal topic of conversation but he didnot know how to accomplish this feat. There was plenty of interest but itwas more clinical than passionate; he was not stirred to yearning, hefelt no overwhelming desire to hold Martha's hand nor to feel thesoftness of her face, yet there was a stirring urge to make some form ofcontact. But he had no idea of how to steer the conversation towardspersonal lines that might lead into something that would justify agesture towards her. It began to work on him. The original clinical urgeto touch her just to see what reaction would obtain changed into apersonal urge that grew higher as he found that he could not kick theconversational ball in that direction. The idea of putting an arm abouther waist as he had seen men embrace their girls on television was apleasing thought; he wanted to find out if kissing was as much fun as itwas made up to be. 

But instead of offering him any encouragement, or even giving him achance to start shifting the conversation, Martha went prattling on andon and on about a book she'd read recently. 

It did not occur to James Holden that Martha Bagley might entertain theidea of physical contact of some mild sort on an experimental basis. Hedid not even consider the possibility that he might _start_ her thinkingabout it. So instead of closing the distance between them like a gentlewolf, watching with sly calculation to ascertain whether her response waspositive, negative, or completely neutral, he sat like a post and frettedinwardly because he couldn't control the direction of their conversation. 

Ultimately, of course, Martha ran out of comment on her book and thenthere fell a deadly silence because James couldn't dredge up anotherlively subject. Desperately, he searched through his mind for an opening. There was none. The bright patter between male and female characters inbooks he'd smuggled started off on too high a level on both sides. Booksthat were written adequately for his understanding of this problem signedoff with the trite explanation that they lived happily ever afterwardsbut did not say a darned thing about how they went about it. The slightlylurid books that he'd bought, delivered in plain wrappers, gave some veryilluminating descriptions of the art or act, but the affair opened withthe scene all set and the principal characters both ready, willing, andable. There was no conversational road map that showed the way that ledtwo people from a calm and unemotional discussion into an area that mightlead to something entirely else. 

In silence, James Holden sat there sinking deeper and deeper into his ownmisery. 

The more he thought about it, the farther he found himself from hisdesire. Later in the process, he knew, came a big barrier called"stealing a kiss, " and James with his literal mind provided this gamewith an aggressor, a defender, and the final extraction by coercion orviolence of the first osculatory contact. If the objective could becarried off without the defense repulsing the advance, the rest wassupposed to come with less trouble. But here he was floundering before hebegan, let alone approaching the barrier that must be an even biggerproblem. 

Briefly he wished that it were Christmas, because at Christmas peoplehung up mistletoe. Mistletoe would not only provide an opening bycustom and tradition, it also cut through this verbal morass of tryingto lead up to the subject by the quick process of supplying the subjectitself. But it was a long time before Christmas. James abandoned thatill-conceived idea and went on sinking deep and feeling miserable. 

Then Martha's mother took James out of his misery by coming in toannounce dinner. Regretfully, James sighed for his lost moments andhelplessness, then got to his feet and held out a hand for Martha. 

She put her hand in his and allowed him to lift her to her feet bypulling. The first contact did not stir him at all, though it was warmand pleasant. Once the pulling pressure was off, he continued to holdMartha's hand, tentatively and experimentally. 

Then Janet Fisher showered shards of ice with a light laugh. "You two canstand there holding hands, " she said. "But I'm going to eat it while it'son the table. "

James Holden's hand opened with the swiftness of a reflex action, almostas fast as the wink of an eye at the flash of light or the body's jump atthe crack of sound. Martha's hand did not drop because she, too, washolding his and did not let go abruptly. She giggled, gave his hand alittle squeeze and said, "Let's go. I'm hungry too. "

None of which solved James Holden's problem. But during dinner hispersonal problem slipped aside because he discovered another slightchange in Janet Fisher's attitude. He puzzled over it quietly, butmanaged to eat without any apparent preoccupation. Dinner took about ahalf hour, after which they spent another fifteen minutes over coffee, with Janet refusing her second cup. She disappeared at the first shuffleof a foot under the table, while James and Martha resumed their years-oldchore of clearing the table and tackling the dishwashing problem. 

Alone in the kitchen, James asked Martha, "What's with your mother?"

"What do you mean, what's with her?"

"She's changed, somehow. "

"In what way?"

"She seems sort of inner-thoughtful. Cheerful enough but as ifsomething's bothering her that she can't stop. "

"That all?"

"No, " he went on. "She hiked upstairs like a shot right after dinner wasover. Tim raced after her. And she said no to coffee. "

"Oh, that. She's just a little upset in the middle. "

"But why?"

"She's pregnant. "

"Pregnant?"

"Sure. Can't you see?"

"Never occurred to me to look. "

"Well, it's so, " said Martha, scouring a coffee cup with an exaggeratedflourish. "And I'm going to have a half-sibling. "

"But look--"

"Don't _you_ go getting upset, " said Martha. "It's a natural processthat's been going on for hundreds of thousands of years, you know. "

"When?"

"Not for months, " said Martha. "It just happened. "

"Too bad she's unhappy. "

"She's very happy. Both of them wanted it. "

James considered this. He had never come across Voltaire's observationthat marriage is responsible for the population because it provides themaximum opportunity with the maximum temptation. But it was beginning tofilter slowly into his brain that the ways and means were alwaysavailable and there was neither custom, tradition, nor biology thatdictated a waiting period or a time limit. It was a matter of choice, andwhen two people want their baby, and have no reason for not having theirbaby, it is silly to wait. 

"Why did they wait so long if they both want it?"

"Oh, " replied Martha in a matter-of-fact voice, "they've been working atit right along. "

James thought some more. He'd come to see if he could detect anydifference between the behavior of Judge and Mrs. Carter, and thebehavior of Tim and Janet Fisher. He saw little, other than the standarddifferences that could be accounted for by age and temperament. Tim andJanet did not really act as if they'd Discovered Something New. Tim, heknew, was a bit more sweet and tender to Janet than he'd been before, butthere was nothing startling in his behavior. If there were any differenceas compared to their original antics, James knew that it was undoubtedlydue to the fact that they didn't have to stand lollygagging in thehallway for two hours while Janet half-heartedly insisted that Tim gohome. He went on to consider his original theory that the Carters werechildless because they occupied separate bedrooms; by some sort ofdeduction he came to the conclusion that he was right, because Tim andJanet Fisher were making a baby and they slept in the same bedroom. 

He went on in a whirl; maybe the Carters didn't want children, but it wasmore likely that they too had tried but it hadn't happened. 

And then it came to him suddenly that here he was in the kitchen alonewith Martha Bagley, discussing the very delicate subject. But he wasactually no closer to his problem of becoming a participant than he'dbeen an hour ago in the living room. It was one thing to daydream thesuggestion when you can also daydream the affirmative response, but itwas another matter when the response was completely out of your control. James was not old enough in the ways of the world to even consideroutright asking; even if he had considered it, he did not know how toask. 

 * * * * *

The evening went slowly. Janet and Tim returned about the time thedishwashing process was complete. Janet proposed a hand of bridge; Timsuggested poker, James voted for pinochle, and Martha wanted to toss acoin between canasta or gin rummy. They settled it by dealing a shuffleddeck face upward until the ace of hearts landed in front of Janet, whereupon they played bridge until about eleven o'clock. It wasinteresting bridge; James and Martha had studied bridge columns and booksfor recreation; against them were aligned Tim and Janet, who played withthe card sense developed over years of practice. The youngsters knew thetheories, their bidding was as precise as bridge bidding could be madewith value-numbering, honor-counting, response-value addition, and allof the other systems. They understood all of the coups and end playscomplete with classic examples. But having all of the theory engraved ontheir brains did not temporarily imprint the location of every cardalready played, whereas Tim and Janet counted their played cardsautomatically and made up in play what they missed in stratagem. 

At eleven, Janet announced that she was tired, Tim joined her; Jamesturned on the television set and he and Martha watched a ten-year-oldmovie for an hour. Finally Martha yawned. 

And James, still floundering, mentally meandered back to his wish that itwere Christmas so that mistletoe would provide a traditional gesture ofaffection, and came up with a new and novel idea that he expressed in avoice that almost trembled:

"Tired, Martha?"

"Uh-huh. "

"Well, why don't I kiss you good night and send you off to bed. "

"All right, if you want to. "

"Why?"

"Oh--just--well, everybody does it. "

She sat near him on the low divan, looking him full in the face butmaking no move, no gesture, no change in her expression. He looked at herand realized that he was not sure of how to take hold of her, how toreach for her, how to proceed. 

She said, "Well, go ahead. "

"I'm going to. "

"When?"

"As soon as I get good and ready. "

"Are we going to sit here all night?"

In its own way, it reminded James of the equally un-brilliantconversation between Janet and Tim on the homecoming after their firstdate. He chuckled. 

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, " he said in a slightly strained voice. "I'm thinking that herewe sit like a couple of kids that don't know what it's all about. "

"Well, " said Martha, "aren't we?"

"Yes, " he said reluctantly, "I guess we are. But darn it, Martha, howdoes a guy grow up? How does a guy learn these things?" His voice wasplaintive, it galled him to admit that for all of his knowledge and hiscompetence, he was still just a bit more than a child emotionally. 

"I don't know, " she said in a voice as plaintive as his. "I wouldn't knowwhere to look to find it. I've tried. All I know, " she said with aquickening voice, "is that somewhere between now and then I'll learn howto toss talk back and forth the way they do. "

"Yes, " he said glumly. 

"James, " said Martha brightly, "we should be somewhat better than a pairof kids who don't know what it's all about, shouldn't we?"

"That's what bothers me, " he admitted. "We're neither of us stupid. Lordknows we've plenty of education between us, but--"

"James, how did we get that education?"

"Through my father's machine. "

"No, you don't understand. What I mean is that no matter how we got oureducation, we had to learn, didn't we?"

"Why, yes. In a--"

"Now, let's not get involved in another philosophical argument. Let's runthis one right on through to the end. Why are we sitting here fumbling?Because we haven't yet learned how to behave like adults. "

"I suppose so. But it strikes me that anything should be--"

"James, for goodness' sake. Here we are, the two people in the wholeworld who have studied everything we know together, and when we hitsomething we can't study--you want to go home and kiss your old machine, "she finished with a remarkable lack of serial logic. She laughednervously. 

"What's so darned funny?" he demanded sourly. 

"Oh, " she said, "you're afraid to kiss me because you don't know how, andI'm afraid to let you because I don't know how, and so we're talking awaya golden opportunity to find out. James, " she said seriously, "if youfumble a bit, I won't know the difference because I'm no smarter than youare. "

She leaned forward holding her face up, her lips puckered forward ina tight little rosebud. She closed her eyes and waited. Gingerly andhesitantly he leaned forward and met her lips with a pucker of his own. It was a light contact, warm, and ended quickly with a characteristicsmack that seemed to echo through the silent house. It had all of theemotional charge of a mother-in-law's peck, but it served its purposeadmirably. They both opened their eyes and looked at one another fromfour inches of distance. Then they tried it again and their second was alittle longer and a little warmer and a little closer, and it ended withless of the noise of opening a fruit jar. 

Martha moved over close beside him and put her head on his shoulder;James responded by putting an arm around her, and together they tried toassemble themselves in the comfortably affectionate position seen inmovies and on television. It didn't quite work that way. There seemed tobe too many arms and legs and sharp corners for comfort, or when theyfound a contortion that did not create interferences with limb or corner, it was a strain on the spine or a twist in the neck. After a few minutesof this coeducational wrestling they decided almost without effort toreturn to the original routine of kissing. By more luck than goodmanagement they succeeded in an embrace that placed no strain and whichmet them almost face to face. They puckered again and made contact, thenpressure came and spread out the pair of tightly pursed rosebuds. Marthamoved once to get her nose free of his cheek for a breath of air. 

At the rate they were going, they might have hit paydirt this time, butjust at the point where James should have relaxed to enjoy the long kisshe began to worry: There is something planned and final about the quicksmacking kiss, but how does one gracefully terminate the long-term, high-pressure jobs? So instead of enjoying himself, James planned anddiscarded plans until he decided that the way he'd do it would be toexert a short, heavy pressure and then cease with the same action as inthe quick-smack variety. 

It worked fine, but as he opened his eyes to look at her, she was therewith her eyes still closed and her lips still ready. He took a deepbreath and plunged in again. Having determined how to start, James wasnow going to experiment with endings. 

They came up for air successfully again, and then spent some timewriggling around into another position. The figure-fitting went easierthis time, after threshing around through three or four near-comfortsthey came to rest in a pleasantly natural position and James Holdenbecame nervously aware of the fact that his right hand was cupped overa soft roundness that filled his palm almost perfectly. He wonderedwhether to remove it quickly to let her know that this intimacy wasn'tintentional; slowly so that (maybe, he hoped) she wouldn't realize thatit had been there; or to leave it there because it felt pleasant. Whilehe was wondering, Martha moved around because she could not twist herneck all the way around like an owl, and she wanted to see him. The movesolved his problem but presented the equally great problem of how hewould try it again. 

James allowed a small portion of his brain to think about this, and putthe rest of his mind at ease by kissing her again. Halfway through, hefelt warm moistness as her lips parted slightly, then the tip of hertongue darted forward between his lips to quest against his tongue in acaress so fleeting that it was withdrawn before he could react--and Jamesreacted by jerking his head back faster than if he had been clubbed inthe face. He was still tingling with the shock, a pleasant shock but nonethe less a shock, when Martha giggled lightly. 

He bubbled and blurted, "Wha--whu--?"

She told him nervously, "I've been wanting to try that ever since I readit in a book. "

He shivered. "What book?" he demanded in almost a quaver. 

"A paperback of Tim's. Mother calls them, Tim's sex and slay stories. "Martha giggled again. "You jumped. "

"Sure did. I was surprised. Do it again. "

"I don't think so. "

"Didn't you like it?"

"Did you?"

"I don't know. I didn't have time to find out. "

"Oh. "

He kissed her again and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally he movedback an inch and said, "What's the matter?"

"I don't think we should. Maybe we ought to wait until we're older. "

"Not fair, " he complained. "You had all the warning. "

"But--"

"Didn't you like it?" he asked. 

"Well, it gave me the most tickly tingle. "

"And all I got was a sort of mild electric shock. Come on. "

"No. "

"Well, then, I'll do it to you. "

"All right. Just once. "

Leaping to the end of this midnight research, there are three primaryways of concluding, namely: 1, physical satisfaction; 2, physicalexhaustion; and 3, interruption. We need not go into sub-classificationsor argue the point. James and Martha were not emotionally ready toconclude with mutual defloration. Ultimately they fell asleep on thedivan with their arms around each other. They weren't interrupted;they awoke as the first flush of daylight brightened the sky, and withone more rather chaste kiss, they parted to fall into the deep slumber ofcomplete physical and emotional exhaustion. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

James Holden's ride home on the train gave him a chance to think, aloneand isolated from all but superficial interruptions. He felt that he wasquite the bright young man. 

He noticed with surreptitious pride that folks no longer eyed him withsly, amused, knowing smiles whenever he opened a newspaper. Perhaps someof their amusement had been the sight of a youngster struggling with afull-spread page, employing arms that did not quite make the span. Butmost of all he hated the condescending tolerance; their everlastingattitude that everything he did was "cute" like the little girl whodecked herself out in mother's clothing from high heels and brassiereto evening gown, costume jewelry, and a fumbled smear of makeup. 

That was over. He'd made it to a couple of months over fourteen, he'dfinally reached a stature large enough so that he did not have to provehis right to buy a railroad ticket, nor climb on the suitcase bar so thathe could peer over the counter. Newsdealers let him alone to pick his ownfare instead of trying to "save his money" by shoving Mickey Mouse at himand putting his own choice back on its pile. 

He had not succeeded in gaining his legal freedom, but as Ward of theState under Judge Carter he had other interesting expectations that hemight not have stumbled upon. Carter had connections; there was talk ofJames' entering a comprehensive examination at some university, where theexamining board, forearmed with the truth about his education, would testJames to ascertain his true level of comprehension. He could of coursecollect his bachelor's degree once he complied with the required workof term papers written to demonstrate that his information could beinterwoven into the formation of an opinion, or reflection, or viewof some topic. Master's degrees and doctor's degrees required thepresentation of some original area of study, competence in his chosenfield, and the development of some facet of the field that had not beentouched before. These would require more work, but could be handled intime. 

In fact, he felt that he was in pretty good shape. There were a coupleof sticky problems, still. He wanted Paul Brennan to get his comeuppance, but he knew that there was no evidence available to support his storyabout the slaughter of his parents. It galled him to realize thatcold-blooded, premeditated murder for personal profit and avarice couldgo undetected. But until there could be proffered some material evidence, Brennan's word was as good as his in any court. So Brennan was gettingaway with it. 

The other little item was his own independence. He wanted it. That hemight continue living with Judge Carter had no bearing. No matter howbenevolent the tyranny, James wanted no part of it. In fighting for hisfreedom, James Holden's foot had slipped. He'd used his father's machineon Martha, and that was a legal error. 

Martha? James was not really sorry he'd slipped. Error or not, he'd madeof her the only person in the world who understood his problem wholly andsympathetically. Otherwise he would be completely alone. 

Oh yes, he felt that he was quite the bright young man. He was comingalong fine and getting somewhere. His very pleasant experiences in thehouse on Martin's Hill had raised him from a boy to a young man; he wasnow able to grasp the appreciation of the Big Drive, to understand someof the reasons why adults acted in the way that they did. He hadn'tmanaged another late session of sofa with Martha, but there had beenlittle incidental meetings in the hallway or in the kitchen with theexchange of kisses, and they'd boldly kissed goodbye at the railroadstation under her mother's smile. 

He could not know Janet Fisher's mind, of course. Janet, mother to a girlentering young womanhood, worried about all of the things that such amother worries about and added a couple of things that no other motherever had. She could hardly slip her daughter a smooth version of thebirds and the bees and people when she knew full well that Martha hadgone through a yard or so of books on the subject that covered everythingfrom the advanced medical to the lurid exposé and from the salacious tothe ribald. Janet could only hope that her daughter valued her chastityaccording to convention despite the natural human curiosity which inMartha would be multiplied by the girl's advanced education. Janet knewthat young people were marrying younger and younger as the years went on;she saw young James Holden no longer as a rather odd youngster withabilities beyond his age. She saw him now as the potential mate forMartha. And when they embraced and kissed at the station, Janet did notrealize that she was accepting this salute as the natural act of twosub-adults, rather than a pair of precocious kids. 

At any rate, James Holden felt very good. Now he had a girl. He hadacquired one more of the many attitudes of the Age of Maturity. 

So James settled down to read his newspaper, and on page three he saw aphotograph and an article that attracted his attention. The photographwas of a girl no more than seven years old holding a baby at least a yearold. Beside them was a boy of about nine. In the background was amiserable hovel made of crude lumber and patched windows. This couple andtheir baby had been discovered by a geological survey outfit living inthe backwoods hills. Relief, aid, and help were being rushed, and thelegislature was considering ways and means of their schooling. Neitherof them could read or write. 

James read the article, and his first thought was to proffer his help. Aid and enlightenment they needed, and they needed it quickly. And thenhe stopped immediately because he could do nothing to educate them unlessthey already possessed the ability to read. 

His second thought was one of dismay. His exultation came down with adull thud. Within seconds he realized that the acquisition of a girl wasno evidence of his competent maturity. The couple photographed were humanbeings, but intellectually they were no more than animals with a slightedge in vocabulary. It made James Holden sick at heart to read thearticle and to realize that such filth and ignorance could still go on. But it took a shock of such violence to make James realize that clams, guppies, worms, fleas, cats, dogs, and the great whales reproduced theirkind; intellect, education and mature competence under law had nothing todo with the process whatsoever. 

And while his heart was still unhappy, he turned to page four and read anopen editorial that discussed the chances of The Educational Party in thecoming Election Year. 

 * * * * *

James blinked. 

"Splinter" parties, the editorial said, seldom succeeded in gaining aprimary objective. They only succeeded in drawing votes from the othermajor parties, in splitting the total ballot, and dividing publicopinion. On the other hand, they did provide a useful politicalweathervane for the major parties to watch most carefully. If thesplinter party succeeded in capturing a large vote, it was an indicationthat the People found their program favorable and upon such evidence itbehooved the major parties to mend their political fences--or to relocatethem. 

Education, said the editorial, was a primary issue and had been onefor years. There had been experimenting with education ever sincethe Industrial Revolution uncovered the fact, in about 1900, thatbackbreaking physical toil was going to be replaced by educated workersoperating machinery. 

Then the editorial quoted Judge Norman L. Carter:

"'For many years, ' said Judge Carter, 'we have deplored the situationwhereby a doctor or a physicist is not considered fully educated until hehas reached his middle or even late twenties. Yet instead of speeding upthe curriculum in the early school years, we have introduced suchimportant studies as social graces, baton twirling, interpretive paintingand dancing, and a lot of other fiddle-faddle which graduates studentswho cannot spell, nor read a book, nor count above ten without taking offtheir shoes. Perhaps such studies are necessary to make sound citizensand graceful companions. I shall not contest the point. However, Icontend that a sound and basic schooling should be included--and when Iso contend I am told by our great educators that the day is not longenough nor the years great enough to accomplish this very necessary end. 

"'Gentlemen, we leaders of The Education Party propose to accomplishprecisely that which they said cannot be done!'"

The editorial closed with the terse suggestion: Educator--Educatethyself!

James Holden sat stunned. 

_What was Judge Carter doing?_

 * * * * *

James Holden arrived to find the home of Judge Norman L. Carter an upsetmadhouse. He was stopped at the front door by a secretary at a small deskwhose purpose was to screen the visitors and to log them in and out inaddition to being decorative. Above her left breast was a large enamelledbutton, red on top, white in the middle as a broad stripe from left toright, and blue below. Across the white stripe was printed CARTER inbold, black letters. From in back of the pin depended two broad silkribbons that cascaded forward over the stuffing in her brassiere and hungfree until they disappeared behind the edge of the desk. She eyed Jameswith curiosity. "Young man, if you're looking for throwaways for yourcivics class, you'll have to wait until we're better organized--"

James eyed her with cold distaste. "I am James Quincy Holden, " he toldher, "and you have neither the authority nor the agility necessary toprevent my entrance. "

"You are--I what?"

"I live here, " he told her flatly. "Or didn't they provide you with thistidbit of vital statistic?"

Wheels rotated behind the girl's eyes somewhere, and memory cells linkedinto comprehension. "Oh!--You're James. "

"I said that first, " he replied. "Where's Judge Carter?"

"He's in conference and cannot be disturbed. "

"Your objection is overruled. I shall disturb him as soon as I find outprecisely what has been going on. "

He went on in through the short hallway and found audible confusion. Menin groups of two to four stood in corners talking in bedlam. There was alayer of blue smoke above their heads that broke into skirls as variousindividuals left one group to join another. Through this vocal mob sceneJames went veering from left to right to avoid the groupings. He stoodwith polite insolence directly in front of two men sitting on the stairsuntil they made room for his passage--still talking as he went betweenthem. In his room, three were sitting on the bed and the chair holdingglasses and, of course, smoking like the rest. James dropped hisovernight bag on a low stand and headed for his bathroom. One of the mencaught sight of him and said, "Hey kid, scram!"

James looked at the man coldly. "You happen to be using my bedroom. Youshould be asking my permission to do so, or perhaps apologizing for nothaving asked me before you moved in. I have no intention of leaving. "

"Get the likes of him!"

"Wait a moment, Pete. This is the Holden kid. "

"The little genius, huh?"

James said, "I am no genius. I do happen to have an education thatprovides me with the right to criticize your social behavior. I willneither be insulted nor patronized. "

"Listen to him, will you!"

James turned and with the supreme gesture of contempt, he left the dooropen. 

He wound his way through the place to Judge Carter's study and homeoffice, strode towards it with purpose and reached for the doorknob. Avoice halted him: "Hey kid, you can't go in there!"

Turning to face the new voice, James said calmly, "You mean 'may not' which implies that I have asked your permission. Yourstatement is incorrect as phrased and erroneous when corrected. "

He turned the knob and entered. Judge Carter sat at his desk with twomen; their discussion ceased with the sound of the doorknob. The judgelooked up in annoyance. "Hello, James. You shouldn't have come in here. We're busy. I'll let you know when I'm free. "

"You'd better make time for me right now, " said James angrily. "I'd liketo know what's going on here. "

"This much I'll tell you quickly. We're planning a political campaign. Now, please--"

"I know you're planning a political campaign, " replied James. "But ifyou're proposing to campaign on the platform of a reform in education, I suggest that you educate your henchmen in the rudimentary elements ofpolite speech and gentle behavior. I dislike being ordered out of my roomby usurpers who have the temerity to address me as 'hey kid'. "

"Relax, James. I'll send them out later. "

"I'd suggest that you tell them off, " snapped James. He turned on hisheel and left, heading for the cellar. In the workshop he found ProfessorWhite and Jack Cowling presiding over the machine. In the chair with theheadset on sat the crowning insult of all:

Paul Brennan leafing through a heavy sheaf of papers, reading andintoning the words of political oratory. 

Unable to lick them, Brennan had joined them--or, wondered young Holden, was Judge Norman L. Carter paying for Brennan's silence with some plum ofpolitical patronage?

 * * * * *

As he stood there, the years of persecution rose strong in the mind ofJames Holden. Brennan, the man who'd got away with murder and wouldcontinue to get away with it because there was no shred of evidence, nowitness, nothing but James Holden's knowledge of Brennan's actions whenhe'd thought himself unseen in his calloused treatment of James Holden'sdying mother; Brennan's critical inspection of the smashed body of hisfather, coldly checking the dead flesh to be sure beyond doubt; the cruelsearch about the scene of the 'accident' for James himself--interruptedonly by the arrival of a Samaritan, whose name was never known to JamesHolden. In James rose the violent resentment of the years, the certainknowledge that any act of revenge upon Paul Brennan would be viewed ascold-blooded premeditated murder without cause or motive. 

And then came the angry knowledge that simple slaughter was too good forPaul Brennan. He was not a dog to be quickly released from misery by amerciful death. Paul Brennan should suffer until he cried for death as ablessed release from daily living. 

James Holden, angry, silently, unseen by the preoccupied workers, stole across the room to the main switch-panel, flipped up a smallhalf-concealed cover, and flipped a small button. 

There came a sharp _Crack_! that shattered the silence andre-echoed again and again through the room. The panel that held therepeater-circuit of the Holden Educator bulged outward; jets of smokelanced out of broken metal, bulged corners, holes and skirled into littleclouds that drifted upward--trailing a flowing billow of thick, black, pungent smoke that reached the low ceiling and spread outward, fanwise, obscuring the ceiling like a low-lying nimbus. 

At the sound of the report, the man in the chair jumped as if he'd beenstabbed where he sat. 

"Ouyeowwww!" yowled Brennan in a pitiful ululation. He fell forward fromthe chair, asprawl on wobbly hands and knees, on elbows and knees as hetried to press away the torrent of agony that hammered back and forthfrom temple to temple. James watched Brennan with cold detachment, Professor White and Jack Cowling looked on in paralyzed horror. Slowly, oh, so slowly, Paul Brennan managed to squirm around until he was sittingon the floor still cradling his head between his hands. 

James said, "I'm afraid that you're going to have a rough time wheneveryou hear the word 'entrenched'. " And then, as Brennan made no response, James Holden went on, "Or were you by chance reading the word'pedagogue'?"

At the word, Brennan howled again; the pain was too much for him and hetoppled sidewise to writhe in kicking agony. 

James smiled coldly, "I'm sorry that you weren't reading the word 'the'. The English language uses more of them than the word 'pedagogue'. "

With remarkable effort, Brennan struggled to his feet; he lurched towardJames. "I'll teach you, you little--"

"Pedagogue?" asked James. 

The shock rocked Brennan right to the floor again. 

"Better sit there and think, " said James coldly. "You come within a dozenyards of me and I'll say--"

"No! Don't!" screamed Paul Brennan. "Not again!"

"Now, " asked James, "what's going on here?"

"He was memorizing a political speech, " said Jack Cowling. "What did youdo?"

"I merely fixed my machine so that it will not be used again. "

"But you shouldn't have done that!"

"You shouldn't have been using it for this purpose, " replied James. "Itwasn't intended to further political ambitions. "

"But Judge Carter--"

"Judge Carter doesn't own it, " said James. "I do. "

"I'm sure that Judge Carter can explain everything. "

"Tell him so. Then add that if he'd bothered to give me the time of day, I'd be less angry. He's not to be interrupted, is he? I'm ordered out ofmy room, am I? Well, go tell the judge that his political campaign hasbeen stopped by a fourteen-year-old boy who knows which button to push!I'll wait here. "

Professor White took off; Jack Cowling smiled crookedly and shook hishead at James. "You're a rash young man, " he said. "What did you do toBrennan, here?"

James pointed at the smoke curling up out of the panel. "I put in adestructive charge to addle the circuit as a preventive measure againstcapture or use by unauthorized persons, " he replied. "So I pushed thebutton just as Brennan was trying to memorize the word--"

"Don't!" cried Brennan in a pleading scream. 

"You mean he's going to throw a fit every time he hears the word--"

"No! No! Can't anybody talk without saying--Ouwwouooo!"

"Interesting, " commented James. "It seems to start as soon as thefore-reading part of his mind predicts that the word may be next, orwhen he thinks about it. "

"Do you mean that Brennan is going to be like the guy who could win theworld if he sat on the top of a hill for one hour and did not think ofthe word 'Swordfish'? Except that he'll be out of pain so long as hedoesn't think of the word--"

"Thing I'm interested in is that maybe our orator here doesn't know thedefinition thoroughly. Tell me, dear 'Uncle' Paul, does the word'teacher' give--Sorry. I was just experimenting. Wasn't as bad as--"

Gritting his teeth and wincing with pain, Brennan said, "Stop it!Even the word 'sch-(wince)-ool' hurts like--" He thought for amoment and then went on with his voice rising to a pitifulhowl of agony at the end: "Even the name 'Miss Adams' givesme a fleeting headache all over my body, and Miss Adams wason--ly--my--third--growww--school--Owuuuuoooo--teach--earrrrrrr--Owwww!"

Brennan collapsed in his chair just as Judge Carter came in with hiswhite mane flying and hot fire in his attitude. "What goes on here?" hestormed at James. 

"I stopped your campaign. "

"Now see here, you young--"

Judge Carter stopped abruptly, took a deep breath and calmed himself witha visible effort to control his rage. "James, " he said in a quietervoice, "Can you repair the damage quickly?"

"Yes--but I won't. "

"And why not?"

"Because one of the things my father taught me was the danger of allowingthis machine to fall into the hands of ruthless men with politicalambition. "

"And I am a ruthless man with political ambition?"

James nodded. "Under the guise of studying me and my machine, " he said, "you've been using it to train speakers, and to educate ward-heelers. You've been building a political machine by buying delegates. Not withmoney, of course, because that is illegal. With knowledge, and becauseknowledge, education, and information are intangibles and no legalityhas been established, and this is all very legal. "

Judge Carter smiled distantly. "It is bad to elevate the mind of theaverage ward-heeler? To provide the smalltime politician with a finegrasp of the National Problem and how his little local problems fit intothe big picture? Is this making a better world, or isn't it?"

"It's making a political machine that can't be defeated. "

"Think not? What makes you think it can't?"

"Pedagogue!" said James. 

"Yeowwww!"

The judge whirled to look at Brennan. "What was--that?" asked the judge. 

James explained what had happened, then: "I've mentioned hazards. This iswhat would happen if a fuse blew in the middle of a course. Maybe he canbe trained out of it, and maybe not. You'll have to try, of course. Butthink of what would happen if you and your political machine put thesethings into schools and fixed them to make a voltage twitch or somethingwhile the student was reading the word 'republican'. You'd end up with asingle-party system. "

"And get myself assassinated by a group of righteously irate citizens, "said Judge Carter. "Which I would very warmly deserve. On the other hand, suppose we 'treated' people to feel anguish at thoughts of murder orkilling, theft, treason, and other forms of human deviltry?"

"Now that might be a fine idea. "

"It would not, " said Judge Carter flatly. James Holden's eyes widened, and he started to say something but the judge held up his hand, fingersoutspread, and began to tick off his points finger by finger as he wenton: "Where would we be in the case of enemy attack? Could our policemenaim their guns at a vicious criminal if they were conditioned againstkilling? Could our butchers operate; must our housewives live among ahorde of flies? Theft? Well, it's harder to justify, James, but it wouldchange the game of baseball as in 'stealing a base' or it would ruin thegame of love as in 'stealing a kiss'. It would ruin the mystery-storyfield for millions of people who really haven't any inclination to go outand rob, steal, or kill. Treason? Our very revered Declaration ofIndependence is an article of Treason in the eyes of King George Third;it wouldn't be very hard to draw a charge of treason against a man whocomplained about the way the Government is being run. Now, one moreangle, James. The threat or fear of punishment hasn't deterred anypotential felon so far as anybody knows. And I hold the odd belief thatif we removed the quart of mixed felony, chicanery, falsehood, andunderhandedness from the human makeup, on that day the human race couldstep down to take its place alongside of the cow, just one step ahead ofthe worm. 

"Now you accuse me of holding political ambition. I plead guilty of thecharge and demand to be shown by my accuser just what is undesirableabout ambition, be it political or otherwise. Have you no ambition? Ofcourse you have. Ambition drove your folks to create this machine andambition drove you to the fight for your freedom. Ambition is thecatalyst that lifts a man above his fellows and then lifts them also. There is a sort of tradition in this country that a man must not openlyseek the office of the Presidency. I consider this downright silly. Ihave announced my candidacy, and I intend to campaign for it as hard asI can. I propose to make the problem of _education_ the most importantargument that has ever come up in a presidential campaign. I believe thatI shall win because I shall promise to provide this accelerated educationfor everybody who wants it. "

"And to do this you've used my machine, " objected James. 

"Did you intend to keep it for yourself?" snapped Judge Carter. 

"No, but--"

"And when did you intend to release it?"

"As soon as I could handle it myself. "

"Oh, fine!" jeered the judge sourly. "Now, let me orate on that subjectfor a moment and then we'll get to the real meat of this argument. James, there is no way of delivering this machine to the public withoutdelivering it to them through the hands of a capable Government agency. If you try to release it as an individual you'll be swamped with cries ofanger and pleas for special consideration. The reactionaries will shoutthat we're moving too fast and the progressives will complain that wearen't moving fast enough. Teachers' organizations will say that we'rethrowing teachers out of jobs, and little petty politicians will try toslip their political plug into the daily course in Civics. Start yourcompany and within a week some Madison Avenue advertising agency will beoffering you several million dollars to let them convince people thatHickory-Chickory Coffee is the only stuff they can pour down their gulletwithout causing stomach pains, acid system, jittery nerves, sleeplessnights, flat feet, upset glands, and so on and on and on. Announce it;the next day you'll have so many foreign spies in your bailiwick thatyou'll have to hire a stadium to hold them. You'll be duckingintercontinental ballistic missiles because there are people who wouldkill the dog in order to get rid of the fleas. You'll start the biggestwar this planet has ever seen and it will go on long after you are killedand your father's secret is lost--and after the fallout has died off, we'll have another scientific race to recreate it. And don't think thatit can't be rediscovered by determined scientists who know that such athing as the Holden Electromechanical Educator is a reality. "

"And how do you propose to prevent this war?"

"By broadcasting the secret as soon as we can; let the British and theFrench and the Russians and the Germans and all the rest build it anduse it as wisely as they can program it. Which, by the way, James, brings us right back to James Quincy Holden, Martha Bagley, and theimmediate future. "

"Oh?"

"Yes. James, tell me after deliberation, at what point in your life didyou first believe that you had the competence to enter the adult world infreedom to do as you believed right?"

"Um, about five or six, as I recall. "

"What do you think now about those days?"

James shrugged. "I got along. "

"Wasn't very well, was it?"

"No, but I was under a handicap, you know. I had to hide out. "

"And now?"

"Well, if I had legal ruling, I wouldn't have to hide. "

"Think you know everything you need to know to enter this adult world?"

"No man stops learning, " parried James. "I think I know enough to start. "

"James, no matter what you say, there is a very important but intangiblething called 'judgment'. You have part of it, but not by far enough. You've been studying the laws about ages and rights, James, but you'vemissed a couple of them because you've been looking for evidencefavorable to your own argument. First, to become a duly elected member ofthe House of Representatives, a man must be at least twenty-five years ofage. To be a Senator, he must be at least thirty. To be President, onemust be at least thirty-five. Have you any idea why the framers of theConstitution of the United States placed such restrictions?"

"Well, I suppose it had to do with judgment?" replied James reluctantly. 

"That--and _experience_. Experience in knowing people, in understandingthat there might be another side to any question, in realizing that youmust not approach every problem from your own purely personal point ofview nor expect it to be solved to your own private satisfaction or toyour benefit. Now, let's step off a distance and take a good look atJames Quincy Holden and see where he lacks the necessary ingredients. "

"Yes, tell me, " said James, sourly. 

"Oh, I intend to. Let's take the statistics first. You're four-feeteleven-inches tall, you weigh one-hundred and three pounds, and you're afew weeks over fourteen. I suppose you know that you've still got onemore spurt of growth, sometimes known as the post-puberty-growth. You'llprobably put on another foot in the next couple of years, spread out abit across the shoulders, and that fuzz on your face will become acollection of bristles. I suppose you think that any man in this room canhandle you simply because we're all larger than you are? Possibly true, and one of the reasons why we can't give you a ticket and let youproclaim yourself an adult. You can't carry the weight. But this isn'tall. Your muscles and your bones aren't yet in equilibrium. I could finda man of age thirty who weighed one-oh-three and stood four-eleven. Hecould pick you up and spin you like a top on his forefinger just becausehis bones match his muscles nicely, and his nervous system and brain havehad experience in driving the body he's living in. "

"Could be, but what has all this to do with me? It does not affect thefact that I've been getting along in life. "

"You get along. It isn't enough to 'get along. ' You've got to havejudgment. You claim judgment, but still you realize that you can't handleyour own machine. You can't even come to an equitable choice in selectingsome agency to handle your machine. You can't decide upon a good outlet. You believe that proclaiming your legal competence will provide you withsome mysterious protection against the wolves and thieves and ruthlessmen with political ambition--that this ruling will permit you to keep itto yourself until you decide that it is time to release it. You stillwant to hide. You want to use it until you are so far above and beyondthe rest of the world that they can't catch up, once you give it toeverybody. You now object to my plans and programs, still not knowingwhether I intend to use it for good or for evil--and juvenile that youare, it must be good or evil and cannot be an in-between shade of gray. Men are heroes or villains to _you_; but _I_ must say with somereluctance that the biggest crooks that ever held public office stillpassed laws that were beneficial to their people. There is the area inwhich you lack judgment, James. There and in your blindness. "

"Blindness?"

"Blindness, " repeated Judge Carter. "As Mark Twain once said, 'When I wasseventeen, I was ashamed at the ignorance of my father, but by the time Iwas twenty-one I was amazed to discover how much the old man had learnedin four short years!' Confound it, James, you don't yet realize thatthere are a lot of things in life that you can't even know about untilyou've lived through them. You're blind here, even though your life hasbeen a solid case of encounter with unexpected experiences, one after theother as you grew. Oh, you're smart enough to know that you've got to topthe next hill as soon as you've climbed this one, but you're not smartenough to realize that the next hill merely hides the one beyond, andthat there are still higher hills beyond that stretching to the end ofthe road for you--and that when you've finally reached the end of yourown road there will be more distant hills to climb for the folks thatfollow you. 

"You've a fine education, and it's helped you tremendously. But you'veloused up your own life and the life of Martha Bagley. You two are a pairof outcasts, and you'll be outcasts until about ten years from now whenyour body will have caught up with your mind so that you can join yourcontemporaries without being regarded as a pair of intellectual freaks. "

"And what should I have done?" demanded James Holden angrily. 

"That's just it, again. You do not now realize that there isn't anythingyou could have done, nor is there anything you can do now. That's why I'mtaking over and I'm going to do it for you. "

"Yes?"

"Yes!" snapped Judge Carter. "We'll let them have their courses in batontwirling and social grace and civic improvement and etiquette--and at thesame time we'll give them history and mathematics and spelling andgraduate them from 'high' school at the age of twelve or fourteen, introduce an intermediary school for languages and customs of othercountries and in universal law and international affairs and economics, where our bookkeepers will learn science and scientists will understandcommercial law; our lawyers will know business and our businessmen willbe taught politics. After that we'll start them in college and run themas high as they can go, and our doctors will no longer go sour from themoment they leave school at thirty-five to hang out their shingle. 

"As for you, James Holden, you and Martha Bagley will attend thispreparatory school as soon as we can set it up. There will be no more ofthis argument about being as competent as an adult, because we oldsterswill still be the chiefs and you kids will be the Indians. Have I mademyself clear?"

"Yes sir. But how about Brennan?"

Judge Carter looked at the unhappy man. "You still want revenge? Won't hebe punished enough just hearing the word 'pedagogue'?"

"For the love of--"

"Don't blaspheme, " snapped the judge. "You'd hang if James could bringa shred of evidence, and I'd help him if I could. " He turned to JamesHolden. "Now, " he asked, "will you repair your machine?"

"And if I say No?"

"Can you stand the pressure of a whole world angered because you'vedenied them their right to an education?"

"I suppose not. " He looked at Brennan, at Professor White and at JackCowling. "If I've got to trust somebody, " he said reluctantly, "I supposeit might as well be you. "

BOOK FOUR:

THE NEW MATURITY

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It is the campus of Holden Preparatory Academy. 

It is spring, but many another spring must pass before the ambitious ivyclimbs to smother the gray granite walls, before the stripling trees growstately, before the lawn is sturdy enough to withstand the crab grass andthe students. Anecdote and apocrypha have yet to evolve into hallowedtradition. The walks ways are bare of bronze plaques because there are noillustrious alumni to honor; Holden Preparatory has yet to graduate itsfirst class. 

It is youth, a lusty infant whose latent power is already great enoughto move the world. As it rises, the world rises with it for the wholeconsists of all its parts; no man moves alone. 

The movement has its supporters and its enemies, and between them lies avast apathy of folks who simply don't give a damn. It supporters deplorethe dolts and the sluggards who either cannot or will not be educated. Its enemies see it as a danger to their comfortable position of eminenceand claim bitterly that the honored degree of doctor is being degraded. They refuse to see that it is not the degradation of the standard butrather the exaltation of the norm. Comfortable, they lazily object to thenecessity of rising with the norm to keep their position. Nor do theyrealize that the ones who will be assaulting their fortress willthemselves be fighting still stronger youth one day when the mistakes arecorrected and the program streamlined through experience. 

On the virgin lawn, in a spot that will someday lie in the shade of agreat oak, a group of students sit, sprawl, lie. The oldest of them issixteen, and it is true that not one of them has any reverence forcollege degrees, because the entrance requirements demand the scholasticlevel of bachelor in the arts, the sciences, in language and literature. The mark of their progress is not stated in grades, but rather in thenumber of supplementary degrees for which they qualify. The honors oftheir graduation are noted by the number of doctorates they acquire. Their goal is the title of Scholar, without which they may not attendcollege for their ultimate education. 

But they do not have the "look of eagles" nor do they act as if they feltsome divine purpose fill their lives. They do not lead the pack in aneasy lope, for who holds rank when admirals meet? They are not dedicatednor single-minded; if their jokes and pranks start on a higher or lowerplane, it is just because they have better minds than their forebears atthe same time. 

On the fringe of this group, an olive-skinned Brazilian co-ed asks:"Where's Martha?"

John Philips looks up from a diagram of fieldmatrics he's been using tolay out a football play. "She's lending moral support to Holden. He'ssweating out his scholar's impromptu this afternoon. "

"Why should he be stewing?"

John Philips smiles knowingly. "Tony Dirk put the triple-whammy on him. Gimmicked up the random-choice selector in the Regent's office. Herr vonJames is discoursing on the subjects of Medicine, Astronomy, andPsychology--that is if Dirk knows his stuff. "

Tony Dirk looks down from his study of a fluffy cloud. "Anybody care tohazard some loose change on my ability?"

"But why?"

"Oh, " replies Philips, "we figure that the first graduating class coulduse a professional _Astrologer_! We'll be the first in history to haveone--if M'sieu Holden can tie Medicine, Astronomy, and Psychology intosomething cogent in his impromptu. "

It is a strange tongue they are using, probably the first birth-pains ofa truly universal language. By some tacit agreement, personal questionsare voiced in French, the reply in Spanish. Impersonal questions areItalian and the response in Portuguese. Anything of a scientific naturemust be in German; law, language, or literature in English; art inJapanese; music in Greek; medicine in Latin; agriculture in Czech. Anything laudatory in Mandarin, derogatory in Sanskrit--and _ad libitum_at any point for any subject. 

Anita Lowes has been trying to attract the attention of John Philips fromhis diagram long enough to invite her to the Spring Festival by recitinga low-voiced string of nuclear equations carefully compounded to makethem sound naughty unless they're properly identified with fullattention. She looks up and says, "What if he doesn't make theconnection?"

Philips replies, "Well, if he can prove to that tough bunch that thereis no possible advance in learning through a combination of Astronomy, Medicine, and Psychology, he'll make it on that basis. It's just asimportant to close a door as it is to open one, you know. But it's onerough deal to prove negation. Maybe we'll have James the Holden on ourhands for another semester. Martha will like that. "

"Talking about me?"

There is a rolling motion, sort of like a bushel of fish trying to leapback into the sea. The newcomer is Martha Fisher. At fifteen, her eyesare bright, and her features are beginning to soften into the beginningof a beauty that will deepen with maturity. 

"James, " says Tony Dirk. "We figured you'd like to have him aroundanother four months. So we gimmicked him. "

"You mean that test-trio?" chuckles Martha. 

"How's he doing?"

"When I left, he was wriggling his way through probability math, showingthe relationship between his three subjects and the solution for randomchoice figures which may or may not be shaded by known or not-knownagency. He's covered Mason's History of Superstition and--"

"Superstition?" asks a Japanese. 

Martha nods. "He claimed superstition is based upon fear and faith, andhe feared that someone had tampered with his random choice of subjects, and he had faith that it was one of his buddies. So--"

Martha is interrupted by a shout. The years have done well by JamesHolden, too. He is a lithe sixteen. It is a long time since he formed hislittle theory of human pair-production and it is almost as long sincehe thought of it last. If he reconsiders it now, he does not recognizehis part in it because everything looks different from within the circle. His world, like the organization of the Universe, is made up of schoolscontaining classes of groups of clusters of sets of associations createdby combinations and permutations of individuals. 

"I made it!" he says. 

James has his problems. Big ones. Shall he go to Harvard alone, or shallhe go to coeducational California with the hope that Martha will followhim? Then there was the fun awaiting him at Heidelberg, the historicbackground of Pisa, the vigorous routine at Tokyo. As a Scholar, he hascontributed original research in four or five fields to attaindoctorates, now he is to pick a few allied fields, combine certain phasesof them, and work for his Specific. It is James Holden's determination toprove that the son is worthy of the parents for which his school isnamed. 

But there is high competition. At Carter tech-prep, a girl is strugglingto arrange a Periodic Chart of the Nucleons. At Maxwell, one of hiscontemporaries will contend that the human spleen acts as an ion-exchangeorgan to rid the human body of radioactive minerals, and he will somedaydie trying to prove it. His own classmate Tony Dirk will organize aweather-control program, and John Philips will write six lines of oddsymbols that will be called the Inertiogravitic Equations. 

Their children will reach the distant stars, and their children'schildren will, humanlike, cross the vast chasm that lies between oneswirl of matter and the other before they have barely touched their homegalaxy. 

No man is an island, near or far on Earth as it is across the glowingclusters of galaxies--nay, as it may be in Heaven itself. 

The motto is cut deep in the granite over the doorway to Holden Hall:

YOU YOURSELFMUST LIGHT THE FAGGOTSTHAT YOU HAVE BROUGHT