“All right, Doctor.” Hathaway leaned against the bonnet of one of the cars. His moods seemed to switch abruptly from one level to the next. He watched Franklin amiably. “What’s the matter-lost your car?”

“All your damned shouting has confused me. ” Franklin pulled out his ignition key and read the number off the tag: -NYN 299-566-36721--can you see it?”

Hathaway leaned around lazily, one sandal up on the bonnet, surveying the square of a thousand or so cars facing them. “Difficult, isn’t it, when they’re all identical, even the same color? Thirty years ago there were about ten different makes, each in a dozen colors.”

Franklin spotted his car, began to walk toward it. “Sixty years ago there were a hundred makes. What of it? The economies of standardization are obviously bought at a price.9’

Hathaway drummed his palm lightly on the roofs. “But these cars aren’t all that cheap, Doctor. In fact, comparing them on an average income basis with those of thirty years ago they’re about forty percent more expensive. With only one make being produced you’d expect a substantial reduction in price, not an increase.”

“Maybe,” Franklin said, opening his door. “But mechanically the cars of today are far more sophisticated. They’re lighter, more durable, safer to drive.”

Hathaway shook his head skeptically. “They bore me. The same model, same styling, same color, year after year. It’s a sort of communism. “ He rubbed a greasy finger over the windshield. “This is a new one again, isn’t it, Doctor? Where’s the old one-you only had it for three months?”

“I traded it in,” Franklin told him, starting the engine. “If you ever had any money you’d realize that it’s the most economical way of owning a car. You don’t keep driving the same one until it falls apart. It’s the same with everything else-television sets, washing machines, refrigerators. But you aren’t faced with the problem-you haven’t got any. “