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up to more important clubs, and everyone starts somewhere.”
    Jaro smilingly shook his head. “For me it would be a waste of time. I intend to be a spaceman.”
    Dame Wirtz was scandalized. “What’s all this?”
    “It should be an exciting life, looking for new planets at the back of the galaxy. Spacemen don’t need to join clubs.”
    Idora Wirtz compressed her lips. A typically boyish ambition, she supposed—if more than a little callow. “That’s all very well, and exciting it might be, but it’s a lonely anti-social life, away from family and all your wonderful clubs! You wouldn’t be able to go to parties, or political rallies, or march in parades with banner held high, and you’d never be elected up-slope to fine new memberships if you weren’t on hand to press your case!”
    “I’m not interested in that.”
    Dame Wirtz became excited. “You are saying all the wrong things! Reality is communal interaction! Space flight is an escape from the problems of life!”
    “Not for me,” said Jaro. “I have important things to do that I can’t do on Gallingale.”
    Dame Wirtz seized Jaro’s shoulders and gave him a little shake. “Go, Jaro! I have heard as much as I can tolerate! You are a maddening person, and will no doubt infuriate every girl unlucky enough to fall in love with you.”
    Jaro gratefully went to the door. Here he turned and said: “I’m sorry if I said something to disturb you. I meant no harm.”
    Dame Wirtz grinned at him. “I know all about people like you! Now go, and do something nice to surprise me!”
    Jaro told Althea of his conversation with Dame Wirtz. “She wants me to join the Junior Service League.”
    Althea shook her head in vexation. “So soon? We had hoped to avoid the problem for just a little while longer.” They went to sit at the kitchen table. Althea said, “At Thanet almost everyone strives. A few climb the ladder: from Parnassians to Black Hats to Underwoods, to Squared Circles, then perhaps to Val Verdes or Sick Chickens, to Girandoles and finally to Clam Muffins. Of course, that’s just one of a dozen routes.” She peered sidewise at Jaro. “Does this interest you?”
    “Not very much.”
    “As you know, your father and I belong to no clubs. We are ‘Non-orgs,’ or ‘nimps,’ and we have no social status. You are the same. Think about it. Then if you feel that you want to mix with the others, you can join the Junior Service League and then, when you are ready, strike for the next level: the Persimmons, for instance, or the Zouaves. You’ll never be lonely; you’ll make many friends and play at a dozen sports, and no one will call you ‘nimp.’ Also, you’ll spend hours being nice to people you don’t like, which perhaps is good training. You’ll pay high subscriptions, wear the club token and speak the club jargon. You may enjoy this; many people thrive on it. Others think it’s easier to be a nimp.”
    Jaro nodded thoughtfully. “I told Dame Wirtz that since I wanted to be a spaceman, joining a club would be a waste of time.”
    Althea tried to hide her amusement. “And what did she say?”
    “She became rather cross. She told me I was running away from the realities of life. I said no, that wasn’t it; that I had things to do which could not be done on Gallingale.”
    “Really!” Althea was startled and alarmed. “What things are these?”
    Jaro looked away. This was a private subject which he did not want to discuss. He said slowly, “I suppose that I’m interested in learning about where I came from, and what happened during the years I can’t remember.”
    Althea’s heart sank. Both she and Hilyer had hoped that Jaro would have lost interest in his past and would never think seriously of it again. Evidently, this was not the case.
    Jaro left the room. Althea brewed a pot of tea and sat pondering over the unwelcome news. She definitely did not want Jaro to become a spaceman; he would go off into space and leave Merriehew and