I can't remember, he complained to himself. I can't remember the name of a man whose name I knew so short a time ago as yesterday. Nor the name of a commission that I knew as well as I know my name. I'm getting forgetful. I'm getting downright childish. Childish? Childish! Childish and forgetful. Good Lord, thought Andrew Young, that's just the way I want it. On hands and knees he scrabbled about and picked up the buttons, put them in his pocket. Then, with the muffin tin underneath his arm, he shinnied up the high chair and, seating himself comfortably, sorted out the buttons in the pan. The green one over here in this compartment and the yellow one ... oops, there she goes onto the floor. And the red one in with the blue one and this one ... this one ... what's the color of this one? Color? What's that? What is what? What-- * * * * * "It's almost time," said Stanford, "and we are ready, as ready as we'll ever be. We'll move in when the time is right, but we can't move in too soon. Better to be a little late than a little early. We have all the things we need. Special size diapers and--" "Good Lord," exclaimed Riggs, "it won't go that far, will it?" "It should," said Stanford. "It should go even further to work right. He got lost yesterday. One of our men found him and led him home. He didn't have the slightest idea where he was and he was getting pretty scared and he cried a little. He chattered about birds and flowers and he insisted that our man stay and play with him." Riggs chuckled softly. "Did he?" "Oh, certainly. He came back worn to a frazzle." "Food?" I asked Riggs. "How is he feeding himself?" "We see there's a supply of stuff, cookies and such-wise, left on a low shelf, where he can get at them. One of the robots cooks up some more substantial stuff on a regular schedule and leaves it where he can find it. We have to be careful. We can't mess around too much. We can't intrude on him. I have a feeling he's almost reached an actual turning point. We can't afford to upset things now that he's come this far." "The android's ready?" "Just about," said Stanford. "And the playmates?" "Ready. They were less of a problem." "There's nothing more that we can do?" "Nothing," Stanford said. "Just wait, that's all. Young has carried himself this far by the sheer force of will alone. That will is gone now. He can't consciously force himself any further back. He is more child than adult now. He's built up a regressive momentum and the only question is whether that momentum is sufficient to carry him all the way back to actual babyhood." "It has to go back to that?" Riggs looked unhappy, obviously thinking of his own future. "You're only guessing, aren't you?" "All the way or it simply is no good," Stanford said dogmatically. "He has to get an absolutely fresh start. All the way or nothing." "And if he gets stuck halfway between? Half child, half man, what then?"