Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net THE RUMBLE AND THE ROAR BY STEPHEN BARTHOLOMEW _The noise was too much for him. He wanted quiet--at any price._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When Joseph got to the office his ears were aching from the noise of the copter and from his earplugs. Lately, every little thing seemed to make him irritable. He supposed it was because his drafting department was behind schedule on the latest Defense contract. His ears were sore and his stomach writhed with dyspepsia, and his feet hurt. Walking through the clerical office usually made him feel better. The constant clatter of typewriters and office machines gave him a sense of efficiency, of stability, an all-is-well-with-the-world feeling. He waved to a few of the more familiar employees and smiled, but of course you couldn't say hello with the continual racket. This morning, somehow, it didn't make him feel better. He supposed it was because of the song they were playing over the speakers, "Slam Bang Boom," the latest Top Hit. He hated that song. Of course the National Mental Health people said constant music had a beneficial effect on office workers, so Joseph was no one to object, even though he did wonder if anyone could ever actually listen to it over the other noise. In his own office the steady din was hardly diminished despite soundproofing, and since he was next to an outside wall he was subjected also to the noises of the city. He stood staring out of the huge window for awhile, watching the cars on the freeway and listening to the homogeneous rumble and scream of turbines. _Something's wrong with me_, he thought. _I shouldn't be feeling this way. Nerves. Nerves._ He turned around and got his private secretary on the viewer. She simpered at him, trying to be friendly with her dull, sunken eyes. "Betty," he told her, "I want you to make an appointment with my therapist for me this afternoon. Tell him it's just a case of nerves, though." "Yes sir. Anything else?" Her voice, like every one's, was a high pitched screech trying to be heard above the noise. Joseph winced. "Anybody want to see me this morning?" "Well, Mr. Wills says he has the first model of his invention ready to show you." "Let him in whenever he's ready. Otherwise, if nothing important comes up, I want you to leave me alone." "Yes, sir, certainly." She smiled again, a mechanical, automatic smile that seemed to want to be something more. Joseph switched off. _That was a damn funny way of saying it_, he thought. _"I want you to leave me alone." As if somebody were after me._ He spent about an hour on routine paperwork and then Bob Wills showed up so Joseph switched off his dictograph and let him in.