Russell Latterman noticed that Major Slater was looking at him in a respectfully inquiring manner. He said nothing, and, at length, the Literates' guards officer broke the silence. "You didn't go out with the others." Latterman shook his head. "No, major; I'm an executive of Pelton's Purchasers' Paradise, however unlike its name it may look at the moment. My job's here. I'm afraid I'll have to lean pretty heavily on you, until Mr. Cardon can get help to us. I'm not particularly used to combat." "You've been doing all right with that rifle," Slater told him. "I can hit what I aim at, yes. But I'm not used to commanding men in combat, and I'm not much of a tactician." Slater thrust out his hand impulsively. "I took a sort of poor view of you, at first. I'm sorry," he said. "Want me to take command?" "If you please, major." "What are you going to do, after this thing's over?" Slater asked. "Stay on with Pelton's, provided Mr. P. doesn't find out that I organized that trick with his medicine and the safe," Latterman said. "Since Lancedale seems to have gotten on top at the Hall, I am, as of now, a Lancedale partisan. That's partly opportunism, and it's partly because, since a single policy has been adopted, I feel obliged to go along with it. I'll have to get the store back in operation, as soon as possible. Pelton's going to need money, badly, if he's going to try for the presidency in '44." He looked around him. "You know, I've always wanted to run a fire sale; this'll be even better--a battle sale!" * * * * * Cardon watched Chester Pelton apprehensively as the bald-headed merchant and senatorial candidate sipped from the tall glass in his hand and then set it on the table beside him. His face was pale, and he had the look of a man who has just been hit with a blackjack. "That's an awful load of bricks to dump on a man, all at once, Frank," he said reproachfully. "You'd rather I told you, now, than turn on the TV and hear some commentator talking about it, wouldn't you?" Cardon asked. Pelton swore vilely, in a lifeless monotone, cursing Literacy, and all Literates back to the invention of the alphabet. Then he stopped short. "No, Frank, I don't mean that, either. My own son and daughter are Literates; I can't say that about them. But how long--?" "Oh, for about a year, I'd say. I understand, now, that they were admitted to the Fraternities six months ago," he invented. "And they were working against me, all that time?" Pelton demanded.