"Mine, either. But I once knew a fellow who'd tried for a job. He seemed o.k. to me, but he sure didn't get a good one! Had a clerical position, with business machines, and their output was geared down to spread the work. So he didn't have enough to do ... just stacked punched cards or something every day for eighty years!" "Oh, you'd do better than that, dear!" "Maybe. Point is, there _are_ jobs worse than no job at all!" "I'm not so sure!" Janet said, suddenly determined. "Only a few minutes ago you weren't very happy about the idle days ahead. Why not take a chance?" "Take a chance? What kind of language is that? Chance went out along with disease and poverty and crime and accidents. You're way off base, Jan!" "But you have a chance--oh, all right!--an opportunity, then, if you like that better, to get a _good_ job. Now, if I were a man--" "But you're not.... Still ... maybe I'll try it...." For the first time in a month or two, Janet kissed him warmly. And after she'd helped him into his wings and seen him off from the terrace, she felt a strange warm glow of anticipation. Not since she'd married had there been need for a decision that could bring change into her life. This was a Day! * * * * * It was a Day for a lot of others, too. She learned that from the noon broadcast of the test ceremony. "In my time," the Governor said, speaking from the Capitol's rotunda, "in my time a hundred aspirants was considered a good turnout. Today's applicants total a thousand! We haven't actually got a thousand jobs lined up, but we'll get 'em! And I'm privileged to announce, now that the list of competitors has closed, that we do have the astoundingly large number of ten--repeat, ten--genuinely desirable appointments to make." Ten good jobs for a thousand applicants didn't sound to Janet like an astoundingly large number. She'd been sprawled on a magnetically-positioned pad half-way between floor and ceiling, but she sat up when the Governor stopped talking, and with a twinge of genuine and unwonted anxiety watched the long file of applicants as they approached in turn the brain-wave analyzer, the voice-operated sorter that would add their life-files to current test results, and the officials who judged each man's configuration. She wished they'd announce the test results publicly, but knew they wouldn't. So, when Les had gone through--about twenty minutes after the start--Janet shut off the broadcast, dissolved her dress-films, and had herself rubbed by the massage machine. The morning's suspense was proving too much for her, and she didn't want to have a headache when Les came home. But even the mechanical masseuse couldn't rub away her strange feelings. Not since marriage had Janet felt curiosity as to the future.