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seen before, and in ten minutes he’ll have it apart and back together again. He loves that kind of work. Isn’t there someplace in the plant—?”
    “He’s got to have a graduate degree,” said Paul. He reddened. “That’s policy, and I didn’t make it. Sometimes we get Reconstruction and Reclamation people over to help put in big machines or do a heavy repair job, but not very often. Maybe he could open a repair shop.”
    The man exhaled, slumped dejectedly. “Repair shop,” he sighed. “Repair shop, he says. How many repair shops you think Ilium can support, eh? Repair shop, sure! I was going to open one when I got laid off. So was Joe, so was Sam, so was Alf. We’re all clever with our hands, so we’ll all open repair shops. One repairman for every broken article in Ilium. Meanwhile, our wives clean up as dressmakers—one dressmaker for every woman in town.”
    Rudy Hertz had apparently missed all the talk and was still celebrating in his mind the happy reunion with his great and good friend, Doctor Paul Proteus. “Music,” said Rudy grandly. “Let’s have music!” He reached over Paul’s shoulder and popped a nickel into the player piano.
    Paul stepped away from the box. Machinery whirred importantly for a few seconds, and then the piano started clanging away at
“Alexander’s Ragtime Band”
liked cracked carillons. Mercifully, conversation was all but impossible. Mercifully, the bartender emerged from the basement and handed Paul a dusty bottle over the old heads.
    Paul turned to leave, and a powerful hand closed on his upper arm. Rudy, his expansive host, held him.
    “I played this song in your honor, Doctor,” shouted Rudy above the racket. “Wait till it’s over.” Rudy acted as though the antique instrument were the newest of all wonders, and he excitedly pointed out identifiable musical patterns in the bobbing keys—trills, spectacular runs up the keyboard, and the slow, methodical rise and fall of keys in the bass. “See—see them two go up and down, Doctor! Just the way the feller hit ’em. Look at ’em go!”
    The music stopped abruptly, with the air of having delivered exactly five cents worth of joy. Rudy still shouted. “Makes you feel kind of creepy, don’t it, Doctor, watching them keys go up and down? You can almost see a ghost sitting there playing his heart out.”
    Paul twisted free and hurried out to his car.

4

    “D ARLING, YOU LOOK as though you’ve seen a ghost,” said Anita. She was already dressed for the party at the Country Club, already dominating a distinguished company she had yet to join.
    As she handed Paul his cocktail, he felt somehow inadequate, bumbling, in the presence of her beautiful assurance. Only things that might please or interest her came to mind—all else submerged. It wasn’t a conscious act of his mind, but a reflex, a natural response to her presence. It annoyed him that the feeling should be automatic, because he fancied himself in the image of his father, and, in this situation, his father wouldhave been completely in charge—taking the first, last, and best lines for himself.
    The expression “armed to the teeth” occurred to Paul as he looked at her over his glass. With an austere dark gown that left her tanned shoulders and throat bare, a single bit of jewelry on her finger, and very light make-up, Anita had successfully combined the weapons of sex, taste, and an aura of masculine competence.
    She quieted, and turned away under his stare. Inadvertently, he’d gained the upper hand. He had somehow communicated the thought that had bobbed up in his thoughts unexpectedly: that her strength and poise were no more than a mirror image of his own importance, an image of the power and self-satisfaction the manager of the Ilium Works could have, if he wanted it. In a fleeting second she became a helpless, bluffing little girl in his thoughts, and he was able to feel real tenderness toward her.
    “Good drink, sweetheart,” he said.