"Hello yourself," the janitor said. "So you're home again." "My wife wants the trap moved," George said. "She's afraid the children might get hurt." "Sorry," the janitor replied. "My orders were to put a mousetrap by each mousehole." "How come you didn't go away with all the other people?" George shouted up at him. "Stop shouting," the janitor said. Then, "I'm too old to change," he added. "Besides, I have a farm down the road." "But haven't they stopped paying you?" George demanded. "What's the difference," the janitor countered, "money can't buy anything any more." "Well, what will I tell my wife about the trap?" George asked. The janitor scratched his head. "You might tell her that I'll take it up with the supervisor, if he ever comes back." So George went inside and told Clara. "George," she said, stamping her foot, "I can't go on with that trap out there! You know that supervisor won't come back, so you've got to go out and find him." George, who knew that there weren't many people around anywhere any more, walked over to his favorite easy chair and sat down. "Clara," he said, as he picked up a book, "you can leave or stay as you wish, but there is nothing more that I can do. I've wasted a full month over that trap without accomplishing a single thing, and I'm not going to start that business all over again." --STEPHEN ARR * * * * *