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on the bed. He turned restlessly, flinging himself around on the rumpled sheets… Should have come straight home from work, he thought. Got to sleep while it was still fairly cool. Going to be a scorcher today, and that fan didn't really do any good. Just stirred up the same old air, made a lot of racket. And… and how the hell could a guy sleep, anyway? How could you when you were knocking yourself out night after night, and never getting anywhere? When you knew you were never going to get anywhere? His father could go on living for years, and, hell, of course he wanted him to. But –
    Dusty groaned, and sat up. He lighted another cigarette, smoked moodily, sitting on the edge of the bed. Dammit – the frown on his pale face deepened – it wasn't fair! It was too much to swallow. There was no excuse for it.
    So the old man had lost his job. And I suppose I didn't lose anything! He's lost his wife. Well, she was my mother, wasn't she? I lost my mother…
    Dusty winced, unconsciously. He didn't like to think about his mother. They'd been so close at one time. He could always talk to her, and whatever his problems were she always seemed to understand and sympathize. Then, well, that rumpus over the Free Speech Committee had come up, and Dad had been kicked out of his job. And after that – everything had been different. All her thought, all her sympathy was for his father. To Dusty, she was like – almost – a polite stranger. She wasn't at all concerned about his dropping out of college. College could wait: he was young and his father was old. She took his sacrifices for granted, as something he was obliged to make, a debt that he had to pay. The trouble wasn't his, but it was. He was shut out of it – she drew further and further away from him, drew closer and closer to his father – but he was expected to pay for it. She wouldn't share it with him, this or anything else. Not really share, as she'd used to. He was just a stranger paying off a debt.
    … It was almost noon before he fell asleep. Five minutes later – what seemed like five minutes – -a steady ringing roused him into wakefulness. Automatically, his eyes still closed, he thrust his hand out to the alarm clock. He pressed down on the alarm button – pressed and found it already depressed. He fumbled with it a moment longer, then drowsily opened his eyes.
    It was still daylight. Not quite three o'clock. The ringing continued.
    He jumped up, ran into the living room and snatched up the telephone.
    It was Tolliver, the Manton's superintendent of service.
    "Rhodes – Bill?" he said crisply. "Sorry to bother you, but I'll have to ask you to come down to the hotel."
    "Come… you mean now?"
    "Sorry, yes. Mr Steelman wants to see you, and he's not available after five. Come straight to his office, Bill. If anyone gets curious, you can say you came down to see the auditor. A mix-up in your pay or something like that."
    "But I don't – is there something wrong? I certainly hope I haven't done-",
    Tolliver's laugh was friendly. "Sounds like you've got a guilty conscience. No, it's nothing like that. Nothing that concerns you directly… We can expect you right away, Bill?"
    "Just as fast as I can get there," Dusty promised.
    He was on his way out of the house within ten minutes, still too grumpy with sleep to care much about the reason for the summons… That.Steelman, he grumbled silently. You'd think he was God instate! of just the Manton's manager. He "wasn't available" after five, Mr. Steelman wasn't, just couldn't be bothered, no matter what came up. But everyone else had to be available. He could drag you out of bed in the middle of the day, and that was perfectly all right.
    Dusty, found a parking space at the rear of the hotel, and went in the employees' entrance as usual. He rode a service elevator to the second floor, walked on past the auditor's offices and the switchboard room and entered the outer room of the manager's office. The receptionist