“Wind it up!” the boy cried.

His father picked up the figure. “How much?”

“Fifty cents.” The salesman rose unsteadily, clutching the box against him. “Keep him company. Amuse him.”

The father turned the figure over. “You sure you want it, Bobby?”

“Sure! Wind it up!” Bobby reached for the little soldier. “Make it go!”

“I’ll buy it,” the father said. He reached into his pocket and handed the man a dollar bill.

Clumsily, staring away, the salesman made change.

The situation was excellent.

The little figure lay quietly, thinking everything over. All circumstances had conspired to bring about optimum solution. The Child might not have wanted to stop, or the Adult might not have had any money. Many things might have gone wrong; it was awful even to think about them. But everything had been perfect.

The little figure gazed up in pleasure, where it lay in the back of the car. It had correctly interpreted certain signs: the Adults were in control, and so the Adults had money. They had power, but their power made it difficult to get to them. Their power, and their size. With the Children it was different. They were small, and it was easier to talk to them. They accepted everything they heard, and they did what they were told. Or so it was said at the factory.

The little metal figure lay, lost in dreamy, delicious thoughts.

The boy’s heart was beating quickly. He ran upstairs and pushed the door open. After he had closed the door carefully he went to the bed and sat down. He looked down at what he held in his hands.

“What’s your name?” he said. “What are you called?”

The metal figure did not answer.

“I’ll introduce you around. You must get to know everybody. You’ll like it here.”

Bobby laid the figure down on the bed. He ran to the closet and dragged out a bulging carton of toys.

“This is Bonzo,” he said. He held up a pale stuffed rabbit. “And Fred.” He turned the rubber pig around for the soldier to see. “And Teddo, of course. This is Teddo.”