"Yes. The way nails sometimes insist on bending when you hammer, as if they were trying to. Or the way machinery refuses to work. Matter's funny stuff. In large aggregates, it obeys natural law, but when you get down to the individual atom or electron, it's largely a matter of chance or whim--" This conversation was not taking the direction he wanted it to, and he was thankful when Totem jumped up onto the table, creating a diversion. It turned out to be the pleasantest evening they had spent together in ages. But next morning he wished he had not gotten started on that "cussedness of things" notion. It stuck in his mind. He found himself puzzling over the merest trifle--in the precise position of that idiotic cement dragon. Yesterday he remembered thinking that it was exactly in the middle of the descending roof ridge. But now he saw that it was obviously two thirds of the way down, quite near the architrave topping the huge and useless Gothic gateway set between Estrey and Morton. Even a social scientist ought to have better powers of observation than that! The jangle of the phone coincided with the nine-o'clock buzzer. "Professor Saylor?" Thompson's voice was apologetic. "I'm sorry to bother you again, but I just got another inquiry from one of the trustees. Concerning an informal address you were supposed to have delivered at about the same time as that ... er ... party. The topic was 'What's Wrong With College Education?'" "Well, what about it? Are you implying that there's nothing wrong with college education, or that the topic is taboo?" "Oh, no, no, no. But the trustee seemed to think that you were making a criticism of Hempnell." "Of small colleges of the same type as Hempnell, yes. Of Hempnell, specifically, no." "Well, he seemed to fear it might have a detrimental effect on enrollment for next year. Spoke of several friends of his with children of college age as having heard your address and being unfavorably impressed." "Then they were supersensitive." "He also seemed to think you had made a slighting reference to President Pollard's ... er ... political activities." "I'm sorry but I have to get along to a class now." "Very well," said Thompson. He sounded hurt. * * * * * Gracine Pollard was absent from "Primitive Societies," Norman noted with an inward grin, wondering if it had become too much for her warped sense of propriety. But even the daughters of college presidents ought to be told a few home truths now and then.