"You don't think the Government would allow that, do you? No, this is to satisfy my own curiosity." "Well, since we're both Mid Echelon--brothers, so to speak--I suppose we can share a secret. It will be disastrous! I firmly believe it will be disastrous, Mr. Bartle!" He moved closer to the tall man. "I recall a secret administrative directive we received here twenty years ago concerning just that. In essence, it stated that, though music therapy has its great advantages, if the pattern of performance were broken or altered, a definite erratic emotional reaction would develop on the part of the citizens! That was twenty years ago, and I shudder to think what might be the response now; especially if the 'cast were completely foreign to the recipient." He gave a little shudder to emphasize the horror of the occurrence. "It would make psychotics of the entire citizenry! That's what would happen--a nation of psychotics!" "The fellow who didn't hear the 'miscast' would be top dog, eh, Pettigill? He could call his shots." * * * * * Pettigill twirled the watch chain faster between a forefinger and thumb. "No, he'd gain nothing," he said, staring as though hypnotized by the whirling, gold chain. "It would take more than one _sane_ person to control the derelict population. Perhaps--perhaps two," he mumbled. "Yes, I think perhaps two could." "You and who else, Pettigill?" Pettigill stepped back and drew himself erect. "What? You actually entertain the idea th--" He laughed dryly. "Oh, you're pulling my leg, eh, Mr. Bartle." "I suppose I am." "Well, such a remark gives one a jolt, if you know what I mean. Even though we are speaking of a hypothetical occurrence, we must be cautious about such talk, Mr. Bartle. Although our government is a benevolent organization, it _is_ ill-disposed toward such ideas." He cleared his throat. "Now, is there anything else I can tell you about the Center?" Bartle arose from the chair, stuffing the scrap paper and unused pencil back in his pocket. "Thanks, no," he said, "I think this'll cover it. Oh yes, the article will appear in this Sunday's edition. Thanks, Pettigill, for giving me your time." "Oh, I wish to thank you, Mr. Bartle. Being featured in a _Bulletin_ article is the ultimate to a man such as I--a man whose only wishes are to serve his country and his brothers." "I'm sure you're doing both with great efficiency," Bartle said as he apathetically shook Pettigill's hand and started toward the door. "A moment, Mr. Bartle--" the little man called. Bartle stopped and turned. "I perceive, Mr. Bartle, you are a man of exceptional ability," Pettigill said and cleared his throat. "It seems a shame to waste such talent; it should be directed toward some definite goal. Do you understand what I mean? After all, we're all brothers, you know. It would be for my benefit as well as yours." "Sure, sure, 'brother'," Bartle snorted and left.