"We bring them up with absolutely equal treatment--the finest of everything. At the age of five we divide them arbitrarily into classes and begin training them for occupations. Some we educate as scholars, some laborers, some professional men. In me, dear friend, you see one of the triumphs of our methods. I myself was a foundling--raised and educated in the School of Environment. Whatever I may be, I owe to the School." He paused to give Smithy a chance to digest the statement. "Of course," Possy continued, "we take into consideration such factors as physical build and muscular development. We don't train undersized boys to be freight handlers. But in general the division is arbitrary. And you'd be amazed how they respond to it. To keep a check on things, we interview our students twice a year to see how much they have learned. "We always ask them what they want to be when they grow up. That enables us to determine whether or not the training is really taking hold. Occasionally, it is true, we find a case where the schooling seems to run counter to natural aptitudes--" Smithy could not resist interrupting. "Natural aptitudes? I am surprised to hear you use such an expression. I thought you furnished your students with aptitudes through environmental conditioning." Stiffly, Possy retorted, "Sometime we will have a full, objective discussion of the matter. It is not pertinent at this moment. Of course I believe in natural, or instinctive aptitudes. But I do not believe that they are inherited from parents or even from remote ancestors." "Cosmic rays, perhaps," needled Smithy, and became instantly sorry when his friend's face began to redden. Possy didn't believe in cosmic rays, obviously. Smithy apologized. Possy sighed deeply and made a fresh start. "My friend," he said, "in your work, as I understand it, you learn everything you can about a student's past--and about his progenitors. By so doing you hope to be able to predict his future abilities, his likes and dislikes. But what course do you pursue when you find a boy who just doesn't prove out according to the prognostications?" Smithy mumbled a few evasive words in reply, but refused to be drawn into giving a positive answer. "Never mind," Possy said. "What would you say if you asked a boy what he liked, or what he wanted to do and his answer concerned something that never existed, or had never been dreamed of? Something horrible." Smithy's eyebrows perked up. He made no attempt to conceal the fact that his interest had been aroused. "What, precisely, do you mean?" he demanded.