priceless quality of believing in the system, and of making others believe in it, too, and do as they were told.
The two were inseparable, though their personalities met at almost no point. Together, they made an approximately whole man.
“Did someone tell you Paul had been sick?” said Anita, laughing.
“I’d heard Paul’s nerves had been bothering him,” said Kroner.
“Not true,” said Paul.
Kroner smiled. “Glad to hear it, Paul. You’re one of our best men.” He looked at him fondly. “In the footsteps of your father, Paul.”
“Where did you hear about Paul’s nerves?” said Anita.
“Can’t imagine,” said Kroner.
“Doctor Shepherd told us,” said Baer brightly. “I was there this morning. Remember? It was Shepherd.”
“Now listen,” said Kroner with unaccustomed quickness, “that was something else Shepherd was talking about. You know it was, if you’ll just think back.”
“Oh sure, that’s right, that’s right; something else, something else,” said Baer, looking puzzled. He clapped Paul on the shoulder again. “So you’re feeling better, eh? Well, that’s what counts. Wonderful, wonderful.”
Doctor Shepherd, his neck blazing red above his stiff collar, moved quietly away from the bar toward the French doors that opened onto the golf course.
“By the way,” said Kroner heartily, “where’s your friend Finnerty? What does Ed look like? I imagine he’s found life in Washington a little less—” he searched for a word “—informal than here.”
“If you mean, does he wash?—the answer is still no,” said Anita.
“That’s what I meant,” said Kroner. “Well, none of us are perfect, and darn few of us perfect enough to get a place on the National Industrial Planning Board. Where is he?”
“He may be along later,” said Paul. “He’s a little tired from his trip.”
“Why, where’s Mom?” said Anita, ditching the subject of Finnerty. Mom was Kroner’s wife, whom he always brought to social functions, deposited with other wives, and ignored until the affectionate moment when it was time to retrieve her and cart her hundred and eighty pounds home.
“That intestinal thing that’s been making the rounds,” said Kroner gravely.
Everyone within hearing shook his or her head compassionately.
“Dinner,” said a Philippino waiter. There had once been a movement to have the service done by machines, but the extremists who’d proposed this had been voted down by an overwhelming majority.
As Paul, Kroner, Baer, and Anita walked into the candlelit dining room, followed by the rest, four of the youngest engineers, the most recent arrivals, brushed past and turned to block the way.
Fred Berringer, a short, heavy, slit-eyed blond, seemed to be their leader. He was a wealthy, extroverted, dull boy from a good family of engineers and managers in Minneapolis. He had squeaked through college, and was just barely acceptable to the personnel machines. Ordinarily, nobodywould have hired him. But Kroner, who knew his bloodlines, had taken him on anyway and sent him to Ilium to be trained. The break had done anything but teach him humility. He took it as evidence that his money and name could beat the system any time and, paraphrased, he’d said as much. The hell of it was that his attitude won grudging admiration from his fellow engineers, who had got their jobs the hard way. Paul supposed, gloomily, that beaters of systems had always been admired by the conventional. At any rate, Kroner still believed in the boy, so Paul had no choice but to keep him on, and to pair a smarter man with him to backstop his mental apparatus.
“What is this, Fred, a stickup?” said Paul.
“Checker champion,” said Fred, “I hereby challenge you for the championship immediately after dinner.”
Kroner and Baer seemed delighted. They were forever suggesting that teams be formed and games be played as a method for building morale in the Eastern Division’s family.
“Just
The two were inseparable, though their personalities met at almost no point. Together, they made an approximately whole man.
“Did someone tell you Paul had been sick?” said Anita, laughing.
“I’d heard Paul’s nerves had been bothering him,” said Kroner.
“Not true,” said Paul.
Kroner smiled. “Glad to hear it, Paul. You’re one of our best men.” He looked at him fondly. “In the footsteps of your father, Paul.”
“Where did you hear about Paul’s nerves?” said Anita.
“Can’t imagine,” said Kroner.
“Doctor Shepherd told us,” said Baer brightly. “I was there this morning. Remember? It was Shepherd.”
“Now listen,” said Kroner with unaccustomed quickness, “that was something else Shepherd was talking about. You know it was, if you’ll just think back.”
“Oh sure, that’s right, that’s right; something else, something else,” said Baer, looking puzzled. He clapped Paul on the shoulder again. “So you’re feeling better, eh? Well, that’s what counts. Wonderful, wonderful.”
Doctor Shepherd, his neck blazing red above his stiff collar, moved quietly away from the bar toward the French doors that opened onto the golf course.
“By the way,” said Kroner heartily, “where’s your friend Finnerty? What does Ed look like? I imagine he’s found life in Washington a little less—” he searched for a word “—informal than here.”
“If you mean, does he wash?—the answer is still no,” said Anita.
“That’s what I meant,” said Kroner. “Well, none of us are perfect, and darn few of us perfect enough to get a place on the National Industrial Planning Board. Where is he?”
“He may be along later,” said Paul. “He’s a little tired from his trip.”
“Why, where’s Mom?” said Anita, ditching the subject of Finnerty. Mom was Kroner’s wife, whom he always brought to social functions, deposited with other wives, and ignored until the affectionate moment when it was time to retrieve her and cart her hundred and eighty pounds home.
“That intestinal thing that’s been making the rounds,” said Kroner gravely.
Everyone within hearing shook his or her head compassionately.
“Dinner,” said a Philippino waiter. There had once been a movement to have the service done by machines, but the extremists who’d proposed this had been voted down by an overwhelming majority.
As Paul, Kroner, Baer, and Anita walked into the candlelit dining room, followed by the rest, four of the youngest engineers, the most recent arrivals, brushed past and turned to block the way.
Fred Berringer, a short, heavy, slit-eyed blond, seemed to be their leader. He was a wealthy, extroverted, dull boy from a good family of engineers and managers in Minneapolis. He had squeaked through college, and was just barely acceptable to the personnel machines. Ordinarily, nobodywould have hired him. But Kroner, who knew his bloodlines, had taken him on anyway and sent him to Ilium to be trained. The break had done anything but teach him humility. He took it as evidence that his money and name could beat the system any time and, paraphrased, he’d said as much. The hell of it was that his attitude won grudging admiration from his fellow engineers, who had got their jobs the hard way. Paul supposed, gloomily, that beaters of systems had always been admired by the conventional. At any rate, Kroner still believed in the boy, so Paul had no choice but to keep him on, and to pair a smarter man with him to backstop his mental apparatus.
“What is this, Fred, a stickup?” said Paul.
“Checker champion,” said Fred, “I hereby challenge you for the championship immediately after dinner.”
Kroner and Baer seemed delighted. They were forever suggesting that teams be formed and games be played as a method for building morale in the Eastern Division’s family.
“Just
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