own good."
"Not me." She shook her head vigorously. "The minute they terminate you, I quit. Poof! Who cares? Besides, I can get a better job in Townville."
"Without leaving the Project. That's what I figured. It's the boys I'm worried about. I've been getting them ready for this for weeks."
"But they will quit, too. Your Siberians—your Inspectors—of a surety they will quit, every one!"
"They won't release them; and what Stoner and Black will do to them, even after the war, if they quit without releases, shouldn't be done to a dog. They won't quit, either—at least if they don't try to push them around too much. Keller's mouth is watering to get hold of Siberia, but he'll never make it, nor any one of his stooges.... I'd better dictate a memorandum to Black on that now, while I'm calm and collected; telling him what he'll have to do to keep my boys from tearing Entwhistle apart."
"But do you think he will pay any attention to it?"
"I'll say he will!" Kinnison snorted. "Don't kid yourself about Black, Celeste. He's a smart man, and before this is done he'll know that he'll have to keep his nose clean."
"But you—how can you do it?" Celeste marveled. "Me, I would urge them on. Few would have the patriotism...."
"Patriotism, hell! If that were all, I would have stirred up a revolution long ago. It's for the boys, in years to come. They've got to keep their noses clean, too. Get your notebook, please, and take this down. Rough draft—I'm going to polish it up until it has teeth and claws in every line."
And that evening, after supper, he informed Eunice of all the new developments.
"Is it still O.K. with you," he concluded, "for me to get myself fired off of this high-salaried job of mine?"
"Certainly. Being you, how can you do anything else? Oh, how I wish I could wring their necks!" That conversation went on and on, but additional details are not necessary here.
Shortly after two o'clock of the following afternoon, Celeste took a call; and listened shamelessly.
"Kinnison speaking."
"Tug, Uncle Ralph. The casts sectioned just like we thought they would. Dead ringers for Plate D. So Drake hung a red ticket on every tray. Piddy was right there, waiting, and started to raise hell. So I chipped in, and he beat it so fast that I looked to see his coat-tail catch fire. Drake didn't quite like to call you, so I did. If Piddy keeps on going at the rate he left here, he'll be in Keller's office in nothing flat."
"O.K., Tug. Tell Drake that the shell he rejected are going to stay rejected, and to come in right now with his report. Would you like to come along?"
"Would I!" Tugwell hung up and:
"But do you want him here, Doc?" Celeste asked, anxiously, without considering whether or not her boss would approve of her eavesdropping.
"I certainly do. If I can keep Tug from blowing his top, the rest of the boys will stay in line."
A few minutes later Tugwell strode in, bringing with him Drake, the Chief Line Inspector of the Nine Line. Shortly thereafter the office door was wrenched open. Keller had come to Kinnison, accompanied by the Superintendent whom the Siberians referred to, somewhat contemptuously, as "Piddy."
"Damn your soul, Kinnison, come out here—I want to talk to you!" Keller roared, and doors snapped open up and down the long corridor.
"Shut up, you God damned louse!" This from Tugwell, who, black eyes almost emitting sparks, was striding purposefully forward. "I'll sock you so damned hard that...."
"Pipe down, Tug, I'll handle this." Kinnison's voice was not loud, but it had then a peculiarly carrying and immensely authoritative quality. "Verbally or physically; however he wants to have it."
He turned to Keller, who had jumped backward into the hall to avoid the young Siberian.
"As for you, Keller, if you had the brains that God gave bastard geese in Ireland, you would have had this conference in private. Since you started it in public, however, I'll finish it in public. How you came to pick me for a yes-man I'll never know—just one more measure of your stupidity, I suppose."
"Those shell are perfect!" Keller shouted. "Tell Drake here to pass them, right now. If you don't, by God I'll...."
"Shut up!" Kinnison's voice cut. "I'll do the talking—you listen. The spec says quote shall be free from objectionable cavitation unquote. The Line Inspectors, who know their stuff, say that those cavitations are objectionable. So do the Chemical Engineers. Therefore, as far as I am concerned, they are objectionable. Those shell are rejected, and they will stay rejected."
"That's what you think," Keller raged. "But there'll be a new Head of Inspection, who will pass them, tomorrow morning!"
"In that you may be half right. When you get done licking Black's boots, tell him that I am in my office."
Kinnison re-entered his suite. Keller, swearing, strode away with Piddy. Doors clicked shut.
"I am going to quit, Uncle Ralph, law or no law!" Tugwell stormed. "They'll run that bunch of crap through, and then...."
"Will you promise not to quit until they do?" Kinnison asked, quietly.
"Huh?" "What?" Tugwell's eyes—and Celeste's—were pools of astonishment. Celeste, being on the inside, understood first.
"Oh—to keep his nose clean—I see!" she exclaimed.
"Exactly. Those shell will not be accepted, nor any like them. On the surface, we got licked. I will get fired. You will find, however, that we won this particular battle. And if you boys stay here and hang together and keep on slugging you can win a lot more."
"Maybe, if we raise enough hell, we can make them fire us, too?" Drake suggested.
"I doubt it. But unless I'm wrong, you can just about write your own ticket from now on, if you play it straight." Kinnison grinned to himself, at something which the young people could not see.
"You told me what Stoner and Black would do to us," Tugwell said, intensely. "What I'm afraid of is that they'll do it to you."
"They can't. Not a chance in the world," Kinnison assured him. "You fellows are young—not established. But I'm well-enough known in my own field so that if they tried to black-ball me they'd just get themselves laughed at, and they know it. So beat it back to the Nine, you kids, and hang red tickets on everything that doesn't cross-section up to standard. Tell the gang goodbye for me—I'll keep you posted."
In less than an hour Kinnison was called into the Office of the President. He was completely at ease; Black was not.
"It has been decided to ... uh ... ask for your resignation," the President announced at last.
"Save your breath," Kinnison advised. "I came down here to do a job, and the only way you can keep me from doing that job is to fire me."
"That was not ... uh ... entirely unexpected. A difficulty arose, however, in deciding what reason to put on your termination papers."
"I can well believe that. You can put down anything you like," Kinnison shrugged, "with one exception. Any implication of incompetence and you'll have to prove it in court."
"Incompatibility, say?"
"O.K."
"Miss Briggs—'Incompatibility with the highest echelon of Stoner and Black, Inc.,' please. You may as well wait, Dr. Kinnison; it will take only a moment."
"Fine. I've got a couple of things to say. First, I know as well as you do that you're between Scylla and Charybdis—damned if you do and damned if you don't."
"Certainly not! Ridiculous!" Black blustered, but his eyes wavered. "Where did you get such a preposterous idea? What do you mean?"
"If you ram those sub-standard H.E.A.T. shell through, you are going to have some more prematures. Not many—the stuff is actually almost good enough—one