Paul looked at the girl with a mock sneer. "Phil hates the common man." "Hate, hell. I'm about the last friend he has left. Nearly the only one who refuses to boost common man exclusively, so as to exploit him--consciously or unconsciously. I'm one of the few who still care enough about poor old common man to criticize him. Everybody else is a planner or a mere booster--presidential candidates--Stalin--Hitler--just rah-rah-for-humanity boys. I'm still trying to save common man from himself." "You chill me," Paul said sarcastically. "Chill you?" I would have picked up any lead to keep this bicker alight. It wasn't about Marcia. He spoke to Yvonne. "Phil is the champion lost-cause defender of them all. Whatever he's for is sure to fail. He has the mildew-touch. My childhood is pockmarked with embarrassments that came from having people read his stuff--or having them barge over to see us and tell my dad that his brother-in-law was off the beam again." "I can imagine," Yvonne said. "Phil was out there hollering for rearmament in the thick of the old pacifist days. He was an air-power promoter when the brass was folding 'em in like eggs in puddings. He predicted we'd have to fight the Soviet a dozen years ago--and our boys immediately chummed up with Stalin. He went roaring out for intervention in the last war--bucking isolationists and practically cracking his insides when England and France went in without us. The minute the bomb was shot off--he started battling military control and telling the folks the mess we'd be in--and are in--right now. Once--down in Miami--where he lives--he started a big health crusade. It's a prize pesthole. But that collapsed in his face, too. What he says is usually right--but what happens always makes him look like a louse. If he's championing common man now--well--draw your own conclusion." He winked at me. "I'm championing the Better Man, these days," I said. "Breeding the Better Common Man. Another noble prospect doomed to fail in our time." Paul snorted. "I'm for training them better. Education." "And I'm not against education--either. But you can't polish a brick. You can't make--" "Watch it! The chemists can make anything out of anything." "Take me," I said. "All my life, I've hired somebody to give me lessons in something." Paul grinned a little. "You _are_ a hard case. We admit that." Yvonne laughed. "If he means dancing lessons--he's done all right."