“Yet,” he continued, “defectives do crop up, even among the offspring of the whites. They are hard to discover; but by the Sanson tests we can discover defectives who are, to all appearance, flawless. This class exists especially among those of unusual mental power, which is in itself a stigma of deficiency. Then there are the men who write our books and paint our pictures in the art factories. They present an anarchical longing for personal license. But they are isolated and never allowed to mingle with the world. Yes, there are odd kinks in the human brain. For instance, there still exists a preposterous sense of nationality, which is being remedied by a system of forced emigration. The Prophet Wells did not entirely estimate in its exactness the tenacity of this illogical notion. “Then there was that extraordinary outbreak, the Name War. Who could have anticipated that human beings would object to being classified under letters and numbers, for the sake of statistical simplicity? Yet a misguided fifty thousand chose to meet death rather than give up their names. However, Britain is said to be the province of compromises, and it was agreed that the whites should retain two names, and the blues one.” “But surely,” I said, “the people did not vote for these restrictions?” “You do not understand our system of government, Arnold. Naturally there can be no voting in matters of science, sanitation, or statistics. Yet, even here there is an indirect control, for our rulers, who are whites, are elected by ballot annually, by the high-grade defectives of both sexes. The Federal Council, which is not now in session, meets once a year in London, the capital, and consists of five lay bosses, of whom Lembken is chief, and five Science bosses under Sanson. You will appreciate the stability of our government when I tell you that for twenty years every nominated boss has been re-elected.” I was almost certain of an undertone of irony in his words now. “You see,” he continued, “non-votes are counted as ayes. Then those opposing the Council must give their reason, which is filed in the Bureau of Complaints. And again all such objections have been found to be invalid, since they have invariably been made by undetected morons, who have been sent to the workshops for life in consequence. Every applicant at the Bureau of Complaints is examined by physicians. That was Sanson’s idea.” A most ingenious one. Suddenly I became sure that David was testing me; the whole tenor of his conversation had been ironical, hesitating, perhaps, and carefully weighed, lest he was running into danger, but corresponding in no wise to his convictions. But why was he afraid of me? “Who is this Doctor Sanson?” I asked him. To my surprise his voice dropped, and, before answering, he cast a cautious glance toward the telephone funnel. Then, rising, he stuffed a sofa cover into it.