For Cal Mickey and Both J's

"All of them should have been very happy-"

THEIR problems were solved: the poor they no longer had with them; the sick, the lame, the halt, and the blind were historic memories; the ancient causes of war no longer obtained; they had more freedom than Man has ever enjoyed. All of them should have been happy-

Hamilton Felix let himself off at the thirteenth level of the Department of Finance, mounted a slideway to the left, and stepped off the strip at a door marked:

BUREAU OF ECONOMIC STATISTICS

Office of Analysis and Prediction

Director

PRIVATE

He punched the door with a code combination, and awaited face check. It came promptly; the door dilated, and a voice inside said, "Come in, Felix."

He stepped inside, glanced at his host and remarked, "You make ninety-eight."

"Ninety-eight what?"

"Ninety-eight sourpusses in the last twenty minutes. It's a game. I just made it up."

Monroe-Alpha Clifford looked baffled, an expression not uncommon in his dealings with his friend Felix. "But what is the point? Surely you counted the opposites, too?"

"Of course. Ninety-eight mugs who'd lost their last friends, seven who looked happy. But," he added, "to make it seven I had to count one dog."

Monroe-Alpha gave Hamilton a quick look in an effort to determine whether or not he was joking. But he could not be sure-he rarely could be sure. Hamilton's remarks often did not appear serious, frequently even seemed technically sense-free. Nor did they appear to follow the six principles of humor-Monroe-Alpha prided himself on his sense of humor, had been known to pontificate to his subordinates on the necessity of maintaining a sense of humor. But Hamilton's mind seemed to follow some weird illogic of its own, self consistent perhaps, but apparently unrelated to the existent world.