A click attracted their attention. It was the pneumatic tube. A cylinder dropped out of the tube, and Joe opened it and handed the inclosed paper to Franks. He read: Walt: I'm sending this to you at Joe's because I know that is where you are and I think that you should get this real quick. Helen S. Walt smiled wearily and said: "A good secretary is a thing of beauty. A thing of beauty is admired and is a joy forever. Helen is both. She is a jewel." "Yeah, we know. What does the letter say?" "It is another communique from our doting boss. He is removing from my control the odd three hundred men I've got working on Beam Control. He is to assume the responsibility for them himself. I'm practically out of a job!" "Make that two Scotches," Channing told Joe. "Make it three," chimed in Arden. "I've got to work for him, too!" "Is that so bad?" asked Channing. "All you've got to do is to listen carefully and do as you're told. We have to answer to the bird, too." "Yeah," said Arden, "but you fellows don't have to listen to a dopey guy ask foolish questions all day. It's driving me silly." "What I'd like to know," murmured Franks, "is what is the idea of pulling me off the job? Nuts, I've been on Beam Control for years. I've got the finest crew of men anywhere. They can actually foresee a shift and compensate for it, I think. I picked 'em myself and I've been proud of my outfit. Now," he said brokenly, "I've got no outfit. In fact, I have darned little crew left at all. Only my dozen lab members. I'll have to go back to swinging a meter myself before this is over." It was quite a comedown. From the master of over three hundred highly paid, highly prized, intelligent technicians, Walt Franks was now the superintendent of one dozen laboratory technicians. It was a definite cut in his status with Communications. Channing finished his drink and, seeing that Franks' attention was elsewhere, he told Arden: "Thanks for taking care of him, but don't use all your sympathy on him. I feel that I'm going to need your shoulder to cry on before long." "Any time you want a soft shoulder," said Arden generously, "let me know. I'll come a-running." Channing went out. He roamed nervously all the rest of the day. He visited the bar several times, but the general air of the place depressed him. From a place of recreation, laughter, and pleasantry, Joe's place had changed to a room for reminiscences and remorse, a place to drown one's troubles--or poison them--or to preserve them in alcohol.