"Not a drunken blockhead," Forrester finished triumphantly. "At least she's got a decent respect for wisdom and learning." Symes stepped back, a movement for which Forrester felt grateful. No matter how far away Ed Symes was, he was still too close. "Who you calling a blockhead, buster?" Symes said. His eyes narrowed to piggish little slits. Forrester took a deep breath and reminded himself not to hit the other man. "You," he said, almost mildly. "If brains were radium, you couldn't make a flicker on a scintillation counter." It was just a little doubtful that Symes understood the insult. But he obviously knew it had been one. His face changed color to a kind of grayish purple, and his hands clenched slowly at his sides. Forrester stood watching him quietly. Symes made a sound like _Rrr_ and took a breath. "If you weren't an acolyte, I'd take a poke at you just to see you bounce." "Sure you would," Forrester agreed politely. Symes went _Rrr_ again and there was a longer silence. Then he said: "Not that I'd hit you anyhow, buster. It'd go against my grain. Not the acolyte business--if you didn't look so much like Bacchus, I'd take the chance." Forrester's jaw ached. In a second he realized why; he was clenching his teeth tightly. Perhaps it was true that he did look a little like Bacchus, but not enough for Ed Symes to kid about it. Symes grinned at him. Symes undoubtedly thought the grin gave him a pleasant and carefree expression. It didn't. "Suppose I go have a look for Gerda myself," he said casually, heading up the stairs toward the temple entrance. "After all, you're so busy looking at books, you might have missed her." And what, Forrester asked himself, was the answer to that--except a punch in the mouth? It really didn't matter, anyhow. Symes was on his way into the temple, and Forrester could just ignore him. But, damn it, why did he let the young idiot get his goat that way? Didn't he have enough self-control just to ignore Symes and his oafish insults? Forrester supposed sadly that he didn't. Oh, well, it just made another quality he had to pray to Athena for. Then he glanced at his wristwatch and stopped thinking about Symes entirely. It was twelve-forty-five. He had to be at work at thirteen hundred. Still angry, underneath the sudden need for speed, he turned and sprinted toward the subway. * * * * * "And thus," Forrester said tiredly, "having attempted to make himself the equal of the Gods, Man was given a punishment befitting such arrogance." He paused and took a breath, surveying the twenty-odd students in the classroom (and some, he told himself wryly, _very_ odd) with a sort of benign boredom. History I, Introductory Survey of World History, was a simple enough course to teach, but its very simplicity was its undoing, Forrester thought. The deadly dullness of the day-after-day routine was enough to wear out the strongest soul.