"She'll mark the shoal for the rest of the fleet," the little man replied calmly. "Ready, Mr. Creston!" "What's he think he's doing?" the captain's boy whispered. "Quiet, lad," a peg-legged sailor said softly. "Admiral Nelson will see us through. You'll have your share of action afore mornin', mate!" The darkness was split by faraway flashes of light. Instantly, there was returning cannon fire that caused the ship to shudder and groan. The Battle of Aboukir Bay had begun.... The red flashers above the door winked their message. "Damn!" Mrs. Briggs said, switching off. "Ma!" "There's someone at the door, Timmy. If it's a salesman--!" Mrs. Briggs checked the dials on the electrocooker as she went to the door. A small but efficient-looking woman in the standard white and blue of school uniforms had alighted from her g-car and stood at the door. The woman said she was Bernice Pomeroy from the office of the director of Timmy's public school and Mrs. Briggs, scarcely glancing at her offered identification card, pushed for mezzanine. The woman said nothing; she merely waited until the floor came down hydraulically to mez level. Then Mrs. Briggs ran the magnetic curtains around, and when they were private she saw that the woman was sitting on one of the soft lounge cushions, straight-backed, adjusting her glasses on the small bridge of her nose. She drew a sheaf of papers from her portfolio. "Mrs. Briggs," Miss Pomeroy said, looking up with officious grey eyes. Then she saw Timmy. "Timmy, I suppose." "Yes." Mrs. Briggs wished she'd get on with it. It was hard enough leaving Admiral Nelson at the mouth of the Nile, without having her settling down as if for all day. "Maybe it would be best," Miss Pomeroy coughed a little, "if Timmy--" "If Timmy what?" "It's about him, you see." "I'll send him to the Elroom." "No," Miss Pomeroy said at once. Then she added: "Perhaps it would be best if he stayed after all." She riffled her papers. "Timmy's latest Auden-Gronet test shows his personality has dropped at least five points from positive during the first half of the school year." Mrs. Briggs looked at her nine-year-old son. He was down to the core of his apple now, a nice looking boy, she thought, with bright blue eyes, hair that insisted on drooping too far down on his forehead--she'd have to start training it in earnest soon--and a fair supply of freckles. He carried himself well. Had a pleasant speaking voice, she thought, and a good vocabulary. She had noticed no--slipping? "Timmy's not too far behind factually, Mrs. Briggs," Miss Pomeroy said, referring to her records. "In fact, we'll admit he's ahead in stability and adjustment. But he's getting more negative in aggressiveness and personality development. He just doesn't seem to _care_. That factor may account for his stability--he doesn't have any reason to be unstable, you see? And he adjusts easily because he doesn't care enough not to. There _is_ a reason, of course."