Over a period of more than two hundred years the School of Environment had been taking babies from among the thousands of homeless waifs gathered in throughout the universe, and raising them carefully in a closely supervised, cultural atmosphere. The School of Heredity, on the other hand, was more select. Its pupils came only from families whose genealogy could be traced back for at least a thousand years. Freedom of choice and expression was the rule here, since the school was attempting to prove that a child's inherited tendencies will send it inevitably along a predetermined path, completely uninfluenced by outside help or hindrance. In two centuries neither school had been able to develop an overpowering case in support of its own theory. Hence they both thrived, and cheerfully ignored the discrepancies which existed in the case records of individuals who had not turned out according to the book. Although they were zealous professional rivals, Prof. von Possenfeller and Dr. Smithlawn were devoted personal friends. They called each other Possy and Smithy and got together once a week to play chess and exchange views on the universe in general. Only one subject was taboo between them--their experimental work. On this particular Saturday night, however, Smithy noticed that his good friend Possy was terribly agitated and disturbed, and had for the third time carelessly put his queen in jeopardy. "My dear friend," exclaimed Possy, blindly moving his king into check. "Could you possibly be persuaded to ignore for the moment our ban on professional talk? There is something--" Smithy, secretly, was only too anxious to talk at great length. But he pretended to give the request serious consideration. "If it is really important," he said. "Yes, by all means. Go right ahead." "Smithy," Possy plunged on, "I am nonplussed. I am really, terribly disturbed. I've never felt like this before." Smithy waited patiently while Possy poured himself a large brandy and soda, hastily gulped it down, and made a face as he regretted the action. "How much do you know about our methods of working in the School of Environment?" the professor asked, taking a new tack. "Nothing, of course," replied Smithy. The statement was not precisely true, but Smithy was not yet ready to confess that he had spies in his friend's school. "Well, then," said Possy, knowing full well that Smithy had been getting reports on his college for many years, and feeling secretly glad that he, in turn, had been spying. "Well, then," he repeated, "you should be aware that we know _absolutely nothing_ about the children we enroll. Most of them are infants. We do not know who their parents were, or where they were born. Except for the obvious clues which their bodies furnish, we do not even know their national or racial origins.