The Secretary took in the youngish face, the confidence flowing from the eyes. Evans always managed to give that youthful impression, yet he wasn't really a young man. In a way the thin man envied Evans ... with one exception, of course. This would be Evans' first visit to Brandon. Some of the confidence would be gone when he walked out of Brandon's house. "I said how did it go?" Evans repeated. The Secretary shrugged his thin shoulders. "As usual. He refused." Evans showed white, even teeth. "Is he tired?" "Very." "Excellent," Evans said "And the paper work. Is it worrying him?" The thin man studied Evans. No, he didn't envy the man any longer. Evans had no feelings; it was written on his face. "The paper work is worrying him to death," he heard himself say. "Wonderful!" The Secretary became conscious of the small figure he was holding in his hand. He had walked out with one of Brandon's creations! Suddenly, he slammed it to the ground. The paint chipped and cracked. The small head rolled loosely across the lawn. Evans looked at him queerly. "I think _you_ need a rest," the young man said softly, unsmiling. "Brandon is a good man. I hate to see him broken. He has a lot of talent. But not for the work we're offering him. It isn't right, grinding him into the dirt the way we are." Evans leaned over, picked up the broken puppet. One arm was twisted at an odd angle, the clown suit was torn and dirty. Evans tried to fit the head back on the small body. Finally he succeeded. He looked at the Secretary of Interior. His eyes seemed different. "I have a position he can fill and do a good job. He won't refuse. I'm sure." Evans walked away, toward Brandon's house, still holding the broken figure. * * * * * Brandon stood on the veranda looking across his small estate, in the direction of the city. The site of the government was located there. Perhaps that was why he was so reluctant; he lived too close to it, had it around him day in and day out. The Government was ubiquitous, omnipresent and omnipotent. It dominated every conversation, every business, every life from birth to death. Lately it even seemed that every one he came in contact with held a position with some agency connected with the government. "Mr. Brandon!" "I know," he answered without turning. "You're from Labor." "We've never met!" Brandon turned and took in the lean individual who called himself Evans. Quite different from the one who had called last year. That one had been old and grumpy. Brandon's lips parted: "I assumed. All the other departments have been here except Revenue. I didn't see Wilson standing outside; I've heard he's out of the country. That leaves you." "You could have been wrong, you know," Evans said. "How?" Brandon asked without fully caring. "Revenue has been split. There are two departments now. Revenue and Taxation. Taxation handles income from taxpayers only."