the Divers By JAMES STAMERS _The key to Fred's success was simple ... he may not have had much of a mind, but it was all his, nobody else's!_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] He had forgotten the beer again. He remembered that he had forgotten only as he opened the apartment door. A wave of smoke and onions and hamburger flowed past him into the dingy corridor and he stumbled on the garbage pail, plunked right in the doorway for him to lug along the passage to the chute. The bed was not made in one of their two rooms and newspapers littered the other. Elsie was in the kitchen. "Fred! Fred, did you remember my beer?" He closed the door so that the neighbors would not hear the row to come, except through the walls. "Didja, Fred?" She stood akimbo in the kitchen doorway, a cigarette hanging from her lips, her dressing gown loose and spotted, her feet in old scuffs. "I forgot," he mumbled. "I'll go now." Oh, no, he wouldn't. Not until he had heard a full resumé of his lack of character, lack of enterprise, ambition, decency, thoughtfulness, manhood, semblance of virtue. "I said I was going, Elsie. I said I was going, didn't I?" "Well, my day! You remembered my name!" It was true he rarely used her name or called her any husbandly term such as dear or darling instead, and rarely looked at her at all if he could avoid it inconspicuously. Ten years of marriage--ten years of legal proximity, rather, for nothing in him was married to anything in her any more. "I don't know why you married me," he said. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? Go on, get out." * * * * * He almost knocked the man over as he left the apartment. The man was standing there, about to ring the bell. Well dressed, clean, expensive overcoat, polished shoes, black hat and a mild friendly face. "Mr. Frederick Williams?" the man asked. "Yes," said Fred. "You entered the _Sunday News_ competition for a free space ride?" "Yes. Did I win it?" "Unfortunately, no," said the man. "Oh. Well, excuse me, I've got to go and get something." "I'll come with you. My name is Howard Sprinnell, Mr. Williams, and I've been examining the entries to that competition. Frankly, we think you have considerable talent." "Mister," said Fred over his shoulder as they went down the stairs, "if you're trying to sell me something--" "I don't want a penny from you, Mr. Williams." "Then what--" "We would merely appreciate a few hours of your time, at your convenience."