Civil War, and what we do is, the Rosen factory supplies all the participants, simulacra--that's the plural, it's a Latin type word--of _everybody_. Lincoln, Stanton, Jeff Davis, Robert E. Lee, Longstreet, and around three million simple ones as soldiers we keep in stock all the time. And we have the battles fought with the participants really killed, these made-to-order simulacra blown to bits, instead of just a grade-B movie type business like a bunch of college kids doing Shakespeare. Do you get my point? You see the scope of this?"

We were all silent. Yes, I thought, there is scope to it.

"We could be as big as General Dynamics in five years," Maury added.

My father eyed him, smoking his A & C. "I don't know, Maurice. I don't know." He shook his head.

"Why not? Tell me, Jerome, what's wrong with it?"

"The times have carried you away, perhaps," my father said in a slow voice tinged with weariness. He sighed. "Or am I getting old?"

"Yeah, you're getting old!" Maury said, very upset and flushed.

"Maybe so, Maurice." My father was silent for a little while and then he drew himself up and said, "No, your idea is too--ambitious, Maurice. We are not that great. We must take care not to reach too high for maybe we will topple, _nicht wahr?_"

"Don't give me that German foreign language," Maury grumbled. "If you won't approve this... I'm too far into it already, I'm sorry but I'm going ahead. I've had a lot of good ideas in the past which we've used and this is the best so far. It is the times, Jerome. We have to _move_."

Sadly, to himself, my father resumed smoking his cigar.

3

Still hoping my father would be won over, Maury left the Stanton--on consignment, so fo speak--and we drove back to Ontario. By then it was nearly midnight, and since we both were depressed by my father's weariness and lack of enthusiasm Maury invited me to stay overnight at his house. I was glad to accept; I felt the need of company.