Professor Emeritus Charles Timothy Daneshaw had lain in bed in the comfortable insulation of the bulky grey plastine autometab case which covered him to the waist. He really enjoyed this five minutes after waking when the world was entirely shut off and he could collect his thoughts for the day with no other business but regular inhale and exhale. _Sweet day, so calm, so cool, so bright_, he quoted mentally. This was a comfortable poem for springtime in one's 186th year. _The bridal of the earth and sky, The dews shall weep thy fall tonight, For thou must die._ No one would have to weep for him. He wasn't going to die. He would walk on the lawns today and enjoy the burgeoning of spring without pain, without fear. He would read Wordsworth and plan a vacation walking trip. The bell next to his ear pinged--the machine had finished his daily metabolic record--he pressed the button that raised the heavy case to the ceiling. He stretched and put his feet over the edge of the bed. _Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses_, he headed for the bathroom, _A box where sweets compacted lie._ The shaving cabinet was not such a box. He had to stoop to see the shock of white hair in the mirror, and shaving was a daily nuisance in a bent-kneed position. Some architect must have decided that it was the custom for old men not to be over five feet eight and installed accordingly. Old men should be bowed down with years, but Tim Daneshaw was still six feet three in spite of four inches shrinkage since his thirties, his tall body still unbowed by years or habit. _Only a sweet and virtuous soul, like seasoned timber never gives_ ... he was finishing the Herbert quotation as he wiped off the remaining shaving soap, when there was a sharp rap on the outer door of his room. "Mr. Daneshaw?" "Come in." "Dr. Farrar wants you in his office at once." Miss Phillips' white-capped head bobbed in and out, the door shut, and he could hear the click of her retreating heels. He stepped out of the bathroom and began pulling on his clothes. "Poor Jules," he mused. "Hard at work on a beautiful spring morning before I've even had breakfast. Maybe he'll give me a cup of coffee." * * * * * He was half-way to the elevator, pacing slowly, imagining the aroma of a hot cup of coffee, seeing a thin twist of steam, when a door opened a few steps ahead of him. A wiry little man in a maroon bathrobe beckoned. "Come in here a minute, Tim," said the little man, his voice almost a whisper. "Jules wants me over in Administration Block, El." Elbert Avery grabbed Daneshaw's arm. "He can wait. This is important, Tim." "Just for a minute, then. The nurse said 'at once'." He went in and Avery closed the door quickly. "Have you heard about Saul and Clarice? How they both got out this morning?" Avery seated himself in the swivel chair beside the tremendous desk that made his room look much smaller than Daneshaw's. "Got out?"