"No, a mouse," the old janitor corrected. "My wife wants the trap removed," George patiently explained. "She's worried the children might blunder into it." "Do _you_ see him, too?" the supervisor asked the janitor incredulously, still whispering. "Sure," the janitor replied. "He's the one I was telling you about, from room 112." The supervisor stood up unsteadily. "I don't feel very well," he said in a weak voice. "I think that I'd better talk this over with the Administrative Officer. It's a policy matter." "You come along, too," he said hastily to the janitor, who had turned to leave. "I'll need all the support I can get." He waddled out, followed by the janitor. "_What should I tell my wife?_" George shouted, but they didn't answer, so he went down and told his wife that they were discussing it with the Administrative Officer. And, as anyone could have guessed, a short time later he pushed his head out of the mousehole in the Administrative Office. * * * * * He was a bit late, just in time to see the door close on the supervisor and the janitor. So he shouted, "_Hello!_" as loud as he could. The Administrative Officer looked down and saw him right away. He was a thin pale man with tired eyes. "Go away," he said spiritlessly, "I've just told two people that you don't exist." "But my wife wants that trap removed--it's dangerous for the children," George complained. The Administrative Officer almost shouted to hell with George's children, but basically he was a decent man, even if an overworked one, and he caught himself in time. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, picking up some letters that he had already read, "but we've got to leave the traps." "Then what will I tell my wife?" George demanded. That stopped the Administrative Officer, too. He buried his head in his hands and thought for a long moment. "Are you sure you _really_ exist?" he asked, finally raising his head from his hands. "Sure," George said. "Do you want me to bite you to prove it?" "No, you needn't bother," the Administrative Officer said. And then he buried his head in his hands again. "Technically," he said, speaking through his fingers, "it's a security problem." With an air of relief, he picked up the phone and called the Security Officer. There was a bit of spirited conversation and then he hung up. "He'll be right down," the Administrative Officer told George. Shortly thereafter, the door violently swung open, and a tall man with piercing eyes entered. "Hello Bill," he said quickly. "How are you feeling?" "Hello, Mike," the Administrative Officer replied. "I feel like hell. This is George. I just called you about him." "Hello!" George shouted. "Hello!" the Security Officer shouted back. "I couldn't find any record of you in the files. Have you been cleared?" he added with a note of urgency in his voice. "Fingerprints, A.E.C., C.C.C., C.A.I., F.B.I.?"