The decision was practically forced upon him just before lunchtime. He was putting on his coat to go out for lunch when B. J. Holly stepped out of his office. The office manager was preparing to have lunch with an out-of-town buyer, and as he stepped up to the visiting fireman, he said: "Well, as General Pershing said: 'Lafayette, we are here!'" He chuckled at his own wit, paying no attention to Merriwether. "I beg your pardon, sir," said Phil, "but the general never said that; as a matter of fact, he said later that it was put into his mouth by a newspaperman. He said--" B. J. glowered at him. An office boy, even if he is thirty-four years of age, is not supposed to contradict his superior. "Look, son," said B. J., "I happened to be there. I was only a private, but I happened to be standing right next to him." "That's impossible, sir," Phil said quietly. "According to Federal records, you were born on April second, nineteen-oh-four. You were only fourteen years old at the time. You have no military record with the United States Army." The out-of-town buyer suppressed a snicker. B. J. Holly turned purple and said: "I'll see you after lunch." * * * * * After lunch, Philip Merriwether lost the job he had held for five years. At seven o'clock that night, he sat in a small bar, sipping disconsolately at a glass of Coca-Cola. Not knowing where he was going to get another job, he was trying to drown his thoughts in soda-water and television. The show on the screen was "You Can't Lose," a quiz show produced by the Boltman Automobile Corporation. The quizmaster was grinning sardonically at the hapless contestant. "You have arrived at the fifty thousand dollar question," he said. "Since you chose geometry as your category, the question will be on that subject. Are you ready?" The contestant nodded unhappily. "All right, here's the question: What is the value of _pi_ to eight decimal places?" Before the contestant could say a word, Phil muttered: "Three point one four one five nine two six five--plus." He didn't notice what the contestant said, but the quizmaster shook his head in mock sorrow. "I'm sorry, sir, but the correct answer is: three point one four one five nine two six five. Better luck next time." The coarse, unshaven man standing next to Phil looked at him in awe. "Hey, buddy," he said, "that's the ninth time you've answered right. Why don't you get on that program and make yourself some dough?" Phil blinked at his Coke and thought it over. Then his face brightened. "Yeah," he said, grinning, "why don't I?" * * * * * It took him three weeks to get into the studio, and by that time, his severance pay was almost gone. He was nearly broke, and had no prospects of a job. He _had_ to make good. By pure chance, he was chosen as one of the first contestants. The quizmaster beamed at him pleasantly.