"In Category Religion they've got another way to sort out the jerks and make sure they never get further than monk and beyond the caste of High-Lower. Gods always work in mysterious ways and anybody in Category Religion who doesn't have faith in the wisdom of the God's mysterious choices of who to ordain and who to reject, obviously shows that he's not really got the _true faith_ which is, of course, essential to a priest, not to speak of bishop or ultra-bishop. So obviously, the Gods were wise in rejecting him. In simpler words, the would-be priest who simply hasn't got what it takes, can be given the heave-ho without it being necessary for him, or his family or friends, to understand why. It's all very simple; he lacked the humility essential in a priest of the Gods, as proven by his rebellious reaction." Sam said, unhappily, "I don't get all this." Freddy Soligen came to a pause before the boy, sat down again abruptly and patted his son's knee. "You're young, Sam. Too young to understand some of it. Trust your father. Stick to your studies now. You have to get the basic gobbledygook. But you're on your way up the ladder, son. I've got a deal cooking that's going to give us an in. Can't tell you about it now, but it's going to mean an important break for us." It was then that the door announced, "Major Joseph Mauser, calling on Fredric Soligen." IV Joe Mauser shook hands with the Telly reporter in an abrupt, impatient manner. Freddy said, "Major, I'd like to introduce my son, Samuel. Sam, this is Major Joe Mauser. You don't follow the fracases, but the major's one of the best mercenaries in the field." Sam scrambled to his feet and shook hands. "Gee, Joe Mauser." Joe looked at him questioningly. "I thought you didn't follow the fracases." Sam grinned awkwardly. "Well, gee, you can't miss picking up some stuff about the fighting. All the other guys are buffs." Joe said to Freddy, "Could I speak to you alone?" "Certainly, certainly. Sam, run along the major and I have business." When the boy was gone, Joe sank into a chair and looked up at the Telly reporter accusingly. He said, "This fancy uniform, I stood still for. That idea of picking a song to identify me with and bribing the orchestra leaders to swing into it whenever I enter some restaurant or nightclub, might have its advantages. Getting me all sorts of Telly interviews, between fracases, and all those write-ups in the fracas buff magazines, I can see the need for, in spite of what it's costing. But what in Zen"--his voice went dangerous--"was the idea of sticking that punch-drunk prizefighter on me in the most respectable nightclub in Greater Washington?" Freddy grinned ruefully. "Oh, you figured that out, eh?" "Did you think I was stupid?"