I suppose you would have to pay cash.

It's all recorded.

He swiveled back and gave me a smile. Is it? he asked me. Is it really?

Well, not all of it, I admitted.

So?

I thought about it while he lit his pipe, smoke invading wide, white sideburns. Was he just kidding me along, being sarcastic? Or was he serious?

As if in answer to my thought, he rose from his chair, crossed the room, opened a file cabinet He rummaged around in it for a time, then returned holding a sheaf of punchcards like a poker hand. He dropped them onto the desk in front of me.

That's you, he said. Next week, you go into the system, like everybody else, and he puffed a smoke ring and reseated himself.

Take them home with you and put them under your pillow, he said. Sleep on them. Decide what you want to do with them.

I don't understand.

I am leaving it up to you.

What if I tore them up? What would you do?

Nothing.

Why not?

Because I do not care.

That's not true. You're head of this thing.

He shrugged.

Don't you believe in the value of the system yourself?

He dropped his eyes and drew on his pipe.

I am no longer so certain as once I was, he stated.

If I did this thing I would cease to exist, officially, I said.

Yes.

What would become of me?

That would be your problem.

I thought about it for a moment; then, Give me the cards, I said.

He did, with a gesture.

I picked them up, placed them in my inside coat pocket.

What are you going to do now?

Sleep on them, as you suggested, I said.

Just see that you have them back by next Tuesday morning.

Of course.

And he smiled, nodded, and that was it.

I took them, went home with them. But I didn't sleep.