The tension in the audience and throughout the nation was mounting. And still Bob May kept on asking questions: “Your seventeenth question, Burton. What is the highest point on Mars? How high is it? Who discovered it, and when?” “Mount Kepler! It’s a little over eighteen thousand feet above Canal Level. Discovered by Captain Peter Eriksen on the Third Martian Expedition in the year two thousand and seventeen.” “Correct!” “Monroe--question seventeen for you. On what Twentieth Century stamps do you find the overprint, Z.A.? What do these letters stand for?” “On stamps from old Armenia. Z.A. stands for _Zapadnya Armia_, meaning Western Army!” “Correct!” “Burton, number eighteen--it’s a toughie! Of the over nine thousand different Martian plants, eight thousand and five are lichens and mosses. Of the remaining varieties which one is the rarest, and how does this plant multiply?” Burton ran his hands through his already disheveled hair. His voice had long ago lost its cockiness. He hesitated in concentration for a moment, and then said: “I believe it’s the Lizard Cactus. Its needles, bearing the spores, get stuck between the scales of the Lesser Canali Lizard and poison it. Then it uses the moisture of the animal to start the growth of the new plant.” “Right! Right all the way!” “And you, Mr. Monroe, your eighteenth--another tough one! Of the so-called Presidential Series of postage stamps in use in the United States in the third quarter of the Twentieth Century what was the color of the three-cent stamp? And whose portrait was on it?” Monroe licked his lips. Absentmindedly he pushed his glasses up. The great hall was breathlessly quiet. Monroe was getting visibly tired! “The three-cent stamp was--eh--deep violet, and--the portrait was of--of--George Washington!” Bob May sucked in his breath. “No!” he exploded, “No! It was Thomas Jefferson! _You are wrong!!!_” The audience gasped. Wrong! Monroe stood ashen-faced inside the Force-Field. Little beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and a tiny artery in his temple beat--and beat--and beat.... He did not utter a sound. “I’m sorry,” said Bob May in sepulchral tones. “Genuinely, deeply sorry!” The communicator in front of Monroe quickly sank down through the floor. The shimmering shell around the man seemed for a moment to intensify. Then with lightning speed it collapsed upon itself and disappeared in a blinding implosion--and with it Charles Monroe! Bob May whirled on the spellbound audience. In ecstatic frenzy he shrieked: “I give you _James Burton_--the Winner and New President of the United States!” The great audience went crazy! Transcriber’s Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, July 1956 (Vol. 5, No. 6). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Obvious errors in punctuation have been silently corrected in this version, while spelling and hyphenation have been kept as is.