"Wait a moment, Literate. The Council has also awarded Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise damages to the extent of ten million dollars, for losses incurred by suspension of Literate service, and voted censure against Literate Bayne for ordering said suspension without consent of the Council. Furthermore, a new crew of Literates, with their novices, guards, et cetera, is being sent at once to your store. Obviously, neither the Fraternities, nor Pelton's, nor the public, would be benefitted by returning Literate Bayne or any of his crew; he has been given another assignment." "Thank you. And when can we expect this new crew of Literates?" Prestonby asked. The man in the screen consulted his watch. "Probably inside of an hour. We've had to do some re-shuffling; you know how these things are handled. And if you'll pardon me, Literate; just what are you doing at Pelton's? I understood that you were principal of Mineola High School." "That's a good question." Prestonby hastily assessed the circumstances and their implications. "I'd suggest that you ask it of my superior, Literate Lancedale, however." The Literate in the screen blinked; that was the equivalent, for him, of anybody else's jaw dropping to his midriff. "Well! A pleasure, Literate. Good day." * * * * * "Miss Pelton!" The man in the blue-and-orange suit was still trying to catch her attention. "Where are we going to put that stuff? Russ Latterman's out in the store, somewhere, and I can't get in touch with him." "What did you say it was?" she replied. "Fireworks, for the Peace Day trade. We want to get it on sale about the middle of the month." "This was a fine time to deliver them. Peace Day isn't till the Tenth of December. Put them down in the fireproof vault." "That place is full of photographic film, and sporting ammunition, and other merchandise; stuff we'll have to draw out to replace stock on the shelves during the sale," the Illiterate objected. "The weather forecast for the next couple of days is fair," Prestonby reminded her. "Why not just pile the stuff on the top stage, beyond the control tower, and put up warning signs?" The man--Hutschnecker, Prestonby remembered hearing Claire call him--nodded. "That might be all right. We could cover the cases with tarpaulins." A buzzer drew one of the Illiterates to a handphone. He listened for a moment, and turned. "Hey, there's a Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz down in Furs; she wants to buy one of those mutated-mink coats, and she's only got half a million bucks with her. How's her credit?" Claire handed Prestonby a black-bound book. "Confidential credit-rating guide; look her up for us," she said. Another buzzer rasped, before Prestonby could find the entry on Zydanowycz, H. Armytage; the Illiterate office worker, laying down one phone, grabbed up another.