"Well--yes," he said. "If you want to take that angle." "Idiot!" she said. "Honestly, darling, you're the strangest sort of man to be a World Chancellor." "These are strange times," he told her, smiling without mirth, though with genuine affection. "Suppose--just suppose," she said, turning the pages slowly, "biology should be successful in stabilizing the species again. Would they _have_ to set it back that far? I mean, either we or _they_ would feel awfully out of style." "What would you suggest?" he asked her solemnly. "Don't be nasty," she said loftily. Then she giggled again and ruffled his hair. "I wish you'd have it dyed one color," she told him. "Either black or gray--or why not a bright puce?" "What's for dinner?" he asked, adding, "If I can still eat after that." * * * * * The regional vice-chancellors were awaiting him in the next-to-the-innermost office when Bliss arrived at World Capital the next morning. Australia, Antarctica, Patagonia, Gobi, Sahara-Arabia--they followed him inside like so many penguins in the black-and-white official robes. All were deathly serious as they stated their problems. Gobi wanted annual rainfall cut from 60 to 45 centimeters. Sahara-Arabia was not receiving satisfactory food synthetics--there had been Moslem riots because of pork flavor in the meat. Patagonia was suffering through a species of sport-worm that was threatening to turn it into a desert if biology didn't come up with a remedy fast. Antarctica wanted temperature lowered from a nighttime norm of 62 deg. Fahrenheit to 57.6 deg. It seemed that the ice in the skating rinks, which were the chief source of exercise and entertainment for the populace, got mushy after ten p.m. Australia wanted the heavy uranium deposits under the Great Central Desert neutralized against its causing further mutations. For a moment, Bliss was tempted to remind his viceroys that it was not going to make one bit of difference whether they made their spoiled citizens happy or not. The last man on Earth would be dead within fifty years or so, anyway. But that would have been an unpardonable breach of taste. Everyone _knew_, of course, but it was never mentioned. To state the truth was to deny hope. And without hope, there was no life. Bliss promised to see that these matters were tended to at once, taking each in turn. This done, they discussed his making another whirlwind trip through the remaining major dominions of the planet to bolster morale. He was relieved when at last, the amenities concluded, the penguins filed solemnly out. He didn't know which he found more unattractive--Gobi's atrophied third leg, strapped tightly to the inside of his left thigh and calf, or Australia's jackass ears. Then, sternly, he reminded himself that it was not their fault they weren't as lucky as himself. Myra came in, her three eyes aglow, and said, "Boss, you were wrong for once in your life." "What is it this time?" he asked.