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will be blunt,” said Ambish the Quorce. “You are not considered a patient man. The next Servant must not be automatically attracted by unconventional concepts simply because of their novelty. Our foremost problem, as I see it, is the continuity of tradition. Suppose we accept into our group a man who favors transformation and quick change? He has great power. He can be expected to survive the rest of us. With his power of single endorsement he might change the philosophical posture of the Five. For this reason I prefer a man older than yourself, of demonstrable discretion. I cannot urge your service, though you must not construe this as personal antipathy.”
    Ramus Ymph bowed rigidly. Mieltrude said with a faint smile: “For a fact Ramus has a volatile temperament. Ambish is not citing imaginary bugbears.”
    Sune said breathlessly: “Now, if ever, he must be calm. Oh Ramus, behave yourself!”
    Ramus Ymph was calmness personified. “I regret that you fail to discern in me that prudence to which you attach so much weight. Naturally, I disagree with your assessment.”
    Mieltrude chuckled. “He won’t win endorsement by claiming prudence; who will believe him?”
    Sune leaned back into the couch. “Ramus is sometimes not altogether realistic.”
    Ramus Ymph, turning away from Ambish the Quorce, addressed himself to the remaining three Servants.
    “I had hoped for unanimous urging; I am sorry that this is not to be. The fact remains that these are strange times. We all know that change is on the way: the pressure hangs in the air and dampens our spirits, the more so because everyone resolutely ignores the matter. I say, let us bring the subject into the open, where it can be discussed and reckoned with. Is the prospect really so frightening? Not when sensitive, judicious, and high-caste men accept responsibility. I am willing to dedicate my abilities, such as they are—” Ramus Ymph made a gesture of deprecation “—to the weal.”
    “He is wrong to talk like that,” Mieltrude observed. “He is really tactless and brash. Aren’t those the words Ambish used?”
    “Bombastic old Ambish! The others are not so obdurate.”
    Jubal at last felt impelled to speak. “Ramus Ymph will never be a Servant. I can assure you of this.”
    The two girls glanced at him, dark brown curls and smooth blonde silk swinging around in unison. Sune could not restrain a scornful snort; Mieltrude smiled stonily and turned her gaze back to the rostrum. She made a gesture of dismissal. “Expect no urging of an Ymph by a Mneiodes. They are good haters.”
    Myrus the Mneiodes, an old man, thin and small, withered and sallow, was third in precedence. He spoke in a husky voice. “The idea of ‘change’ has occurred to many people; therefore we must be ready to accept ‘change’ as an accomplished fact. This seems to be your position: sheer nonsense, of course. Lust and envy obsess many of us; do we therefore legitimize these impulses? Our ancient creed is correct.
    Rather than submitting to change we must divert the influences which conduce in such a direction.”
    Ramus Ymph listened with patient good humor. “The remarks of the sagacious Servant are persuasive, even though they fail to correspond with reality. The change to which I refer is not merely a whim or a fad, and its causes are not fanciful. I refer to our excessive population. The countryside is overworked; its beauty is becoming spoiled and stale. Change is upon us; who knows where it will take us if not controlled? Here is the key-word: ‘control’! We must ride ‘change’ rough-shod and control it to our own advantage.”
    The sallow complexion of Myrus the Mneiodes had become darker as Ramus Ymph spoke, and eventually achieved the color of damp clay. “We must control ‘change’, to be sure! We must curb the indecent fecundity of the lower orders. What is intrinsically glorious about change? Nothing. You ask us to veer from our dear old avenues to go bumping