charts, Bill."
"Museum activities. This is an important function of a college levelinstitution. Clearwater has no museum."
"We can't afford one, in the first place. In the second place, I thinkyou've overlooked what we do have."
"There _is_ a Clearwater museum?" Baker asked in surprise.
"Two or three hundred of them, I guess. Every kid in the county has hisown collection of arrowheads, birds' eggs, rocks, and stuffed animals."
"I'm not joking, John," said Baker bleakly. "The museum aspect of thecollege is extremely important."
"What else?" said Fenwick.
"I won't go into everything we evaluate. But you should be aware ofseveral other factors pertaining to the faculty, which are evaluated. Weestablish an index of heredity for each faculty member. This isprimarily an index of ancestral achievement."
Fenwick's color deepened. Baker thought it seemed to verge on thepurple. "Should I open the window for a moment?" Baker asked.
Fenwick shook his head, his throat working as if unable to speak. Thenhe finally managed to say, "Apart from the sheer idiocy of it, how didyou obtain any information in this area?"
Baker ignored the comment, but answered the question. "You filled outforms. Each faculty member filled out forms."
"Yeah, that's right. I remember. Acres of forms. None of us minded if itwas to help get the research grant. We supposed it was the usualGovernment razzmatazz to keep some GS-9 clerk busy."
"Our forms are hardly designed to keep people busy. They are designed togive us needed information about applicant institutions."
"And so you plot everybody's heredity."
"As well as possible. You understand, of course, that the data arenecessarily limited."
"Sure. How do our grandpas stack up on the charts?"
"Not very well. Among Clearwater's total faculty of thirty-eight therewere no national political figures through three generations back. Therewas one mayor, a couple of town councilmen, and a state senator or two.That is about all."
"Our people weren't very politically minded."
"This is a measure of social consciousness and contemporary evaluation."
Fenwick shrugged. "As I said, we aren't so good at politics."
"Achievements in welfare activities are similarly lacking. No notableintentions or discoveries, with the exception of one patent on a newkind of beehive, appear in the record."
_... But liars figure ...!_]
"And this keeps us from getting a research grant in physics? What _did_our progenitors do, anyway? Get hung for being horse thieves?"
"No criminal activities were reported by your people, but there is arecord of singular restlessness and dissatisfaction with establishedconditions."
* * * * *
"What did they do?"
"They were constantly on the move, for the most part. In the eighteenthand nineteenth centuries they were primarily pioneers, frontiersmen,settlers of new country. But when the country was established theyusually packed up and went somewhere else. Rovers, trappers, unsettledpeople."
"This is not good?" Fenwick glanced at the chart that was open now. Itwas almost uncolored.
"I regret to say that such people are not classed as the stable elementof communities," said Baker. "We cannot evaluate the index of hereditaryaccomplishment for the Clearwater faculty very high."
"It appears that our grandpas were among those generally given creditfor getting things set up," said Fenwick.
"Such citizens are indeed necessary," said Baker. "But our indexevaluates stability in community life and accomplishments withlong-range effects in science and culture."
"We haven't got much of a chance then, grandpa being foot-loose as hewas."
"Other factors could completely override this negative evaluation. Yousee, this is the beauty of the Index; it doesn't depend on any onefactor or small group of factors. We evaluate the whole range of factorsthat have anything to do with the situation. Weaknesses in one spot maybe counterbalanced by strength in others."
"It looks like Clearwater is staffed by a bunch of bums without anystrong spots."
"I wouldn't say it in such terms, but the reason I am pointing thesethings out to you, John, is to try to persuade you to disassociateyourself from such a weak organization and go elsewhere. You have finetalents of your own, but you have always had a pattern of associatingwith groups like this one at Clearwater. Don't you see now that the onlything for you to do is go somewhere where there are people capable ofdoing things?"
"I _like_ Clearwater. I like the people at the College. Where else arewe in the bums category?"
Baker suddenly didn't want to go on. The whole thing had becomedistasteful to him. "There are a good many others. I don't think we needto go into them. There is the staff reading index, the social activityindex, wardrobe evaluation, hobbies, children--actual and planned."
"I want to hear about them," said Fenwick. "That wardrobeevaluation--that sounds like a real fascinating study."
"Actually, it's comparatively minor," said Baker. "Our psychologistshave worked out some extremely interesting correlations, however. Eachitem of a man's wardrobe is assigned a numerical rating. Tuxedo, one ormore. Business suits, color and number. Hunting jackets. Slacks. Sportcoats. Work shoes. Dress shoes. Very interesting what our people can dowith, such information."
"Clearwater doesn't rate here?"
Baker indicated the chart. "I'm afraid not. Now, this staff readingindex is somewhat similar. You recall the application forms asked forthe number of pages of various types of material read during the pastsix months--scientific journals, newspapers, magazines, fiction."
"I suppose Clearwater is a pretty illiterate bunch," said Fenwick.
Baker pointed soundlessly to the graph.
"Hobbies and social activities are not bad," Baker said, after a time."Almost up to within ten points of the standard. A few less bingoparties and Brownie meetings and that many more book reviews or serioussoirees would balance the social activity chart. If the model railroadclub were canceled and a biological activity group substituted, thehobby classification would look much better. Then, in the number ofchildren, actual and planned, Clearwater is definitely out of line, too.You see, the standard takes the form of the well-known bell-shapedcurve. Clearwater is way down on the high side."
"Too much biological activity already," Fenwick murmured.
Baker looked up. "What was that? I didn't hear what you said."
Fenwick leaned back and extended his arms on the desk. "I said yourwhole damned Index is nothing but a bunch of pseudo-intellectualgarbage."
* * * * *
Baker felt the color rising in his face, but he forced himself to remaincalm. After a moment of silence he said. "Your emotional feelings areunderstandable, but you must remember that the Index permits us toadminister accurately the National Science Development Act. Without thescientific assurance of the Index there would be no way of determiningwhere these precious funds could best be utilized."
"You'd be better off putting the money on the ponies," said Fenwick."Sometimes they win. As it stands, you've set it up for a sure loss. Youhaven't got a chance in the world."
"You think Clearwater College could make better use of some of our fundsthan, say, MIT?"
"I wouldn't be surprised. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying the boys atMIT or Cal Tech or a lot of other places couldn't come up with a realdevelopment in the way of a fermodacular filter for reducinginternucleated cross currents. But the real breakthroughs--you've closedyour doors and locked them out."
"Who have we locked out? We've screened and fine combed the resources ofthe entire country. We know exactly where the top research is beingconducted in every laboratory in the nation."
Fenwick shook his head slowly and smiled. "You've forgotten the boysworking in their basements and in their back yard garages. You'veforgotten the guys that persuade the wife to put up with a busted-downautomatic
washer for another month so they can buy another hundred bucksworth of electronic parts. You've remembered the guys who have Ph. D.'sfor writing 890-page dissertations on the Change of Color in the NubianDaisy after Twilight, but you've forgotten guys like George Durrant, whocan make the atoms of a crystal turn handsprings for him."
Baker leaned back in his chair and smiled. He almost wished he hadn'twasted the effort of trying to show Fenwick. But, then, he had tried.And he would always have regretted it if he hadn't.
"You're referring now to the crackpot fringe?" he said.
"I suppose so," said Fenwick. "I've heard it called that before."
"One of the things, above all else, which the Index was designed toaccomplish," said Baker, "was the screening out of all elements thatmight be ever so remotely associated with the crackpot fringe. Andbelieve me, you'll never know how strong it is in this country! Everytwo-bit tinkerer wants a handout to develop his world-shaking gadgetthat will suppress the fizz after the cap is removed from a pop bottle,or adapt any apartment-size bathtub for raising tropical fish."
"You ever heard of the flotation process?" said Fenwick abruptly.
Baker frowned at the sudden shift of thought. "Of course--"
"What would the world be like without the flotation process?"
"The metals industry would be vastly different, of course. Copper wouldbe much scarcer and higher priced. Gold--"
"A ton of ore and maybe a pound of recovered metal, right?" saidFenwick. "Move a mountain of waste to get anything of value. Crushmillions of tons of rock and float out the pinpoint particles of metalon bubbles of froth."
"That's a rough description of what happens."
"You've heard of high-grading."
"Of course. A somewhat colloquial term used in mining."
"The high-grader takes a pick and digs for anything big enough to seeand pick up with his hands. He doesn't worry about the small stuff thattakes sweat and machinery to recover."
"I suppose so. I fail to see the significance--"
"You're high-grading, Bill," said Fenwick. He leaned across the desk andspoke with bitter intensity. "You're high-grading and you should beusing a flotation process."
Fenwick slowly drew back in his chair. Baker felt overwhelmed by thesudden intensity he had never before seen displayed in John Fenwick. Anyreaction on his part seemed suddenly inadequate. "I fail to see anyconnection--," he said finally.
Fenwick looked at him steadily. "Human creativeness can be mined only byflotation methods. It's in low-grade ore. Process a million stupidnotions and find a pin point of genius. Turn over enormous wastes ofhuman thought and recover a golden principle. But turn your back onthese mountains of low-grade material and you shut out the wealth ofcreative thought that is buried in them. More than that, by high-gradingonly where rich veins have appeared in the past, you're mining lodesthat have played out."
"An ingenious analogy," said Baker, recovering with a smile now. "Butit's hardly an accurate or applicable one. The human mind is not a pieceof precious metal found in a mountain of ore. Rather, it's an intricatedevice capable of producing computations of unbelievable complexity. Andwe know how such devices that are superior in function are produced, andwe know what their characteristics are. We also know that such a devicedoes not 'play out'. If it is superior in function, it can remain so fora long time."
"High-grading," said Fenwick. "And the vein is played out. You'll neverfind the thing you're looking for until you develop means of processinglow-grade material."
* * * * *
Baker watched Fenwick across the desk. He was weary of the whole thing.He certainly had no need to prove himself to this man. He had simplytried to do Fenwick a favor, and Fenwick had thrown it right back in hisface. Yet there was a temptation to go on, to prove to Fenwick thedifference between their two worlds. Fenwick belonged to a worldcompounded of inevitable failure. The temptation to show him, to tryagain to lift him out of it was born of a kind of pity for Fenwick.
Baker's own life had arrowed decisively, without waver, to a goal thatwas as correct as the tolerances of human error could make it. He oftenpermitted himself the pride of considering his mind somewhat as acomputer that had been programmed through a magnificent gene inheritanceto drive irresistibly toward the precise goals he had reached. ButFenwick--Fenwick was still fumbling around in a morass of uncertainty.After years of erratic starts and stops he was now confusedly trying tomake something out of that miserable little institution calledClearwater College.
It wasn't particularly friendship that urged Baker to show Fenwick.Their friendship was of a breed that Baker had never quite been able todefine to his own satisfaction. It seemed to him there was a sort ofdeadly fascination in associating with a man who walked so blindly, whowas so profoundly incapable of understanding his own blindness andperil.
"I'm going to show you," Baker said abruptly, "exactly what it wouldmean if we were to do as you suggest. I'll show you what it would belike to give attention to every halfwit and crackpot that comes beggingfor a handout." He switched the intercom and spoke into it. "Doris,please bring in the Ellerbee file. Yes--the crackpot section."
He switched off. "Doris has her own quaint but quite accurate way ofcataloguing our various applications," he explained.
In a moment the secretary entered and placed the file on the desk."There's a new letter in there," she said. "Dr. Pehrson initialed it. Hesaid you didn't want to be bothered any more with this case."
"That's right."
Baker opened the file and shoved it toward Fenwick. "This boy has agadget he wants us to look at. Doesn't really need any money, he says.That's the kind we really have to be on guard against. If we looked athis wonder gadget, we'd be pestered for a million-dollar handout foryears to come."
"What's he got?" Fenwick asked.
"Some kind of communication device, he says. He claims it's nothing buta grown crystal which you hold in your hand and talk to anybody anywhereon Earth."
"Sounds like it wouldn't take much to find out whether he's got anythingor not. Just let him put on a five-minute demonstration."
"But multiply that five minutes by a thousand, by ten thousand. And onceyou let them get their teeth into you, it doesn't stop with fiveminutes. It goes on into reams of letters and years of time. No, youhave to stop this kind of thing before it ever starts. But take a lookat some of this material in the file and you'll see what I mean."
Fenwick picked up the top letter as Baker pushed the file toward him."He starts this one by saying, 'Dear Urban.' Is that what he calls you?What does he mean?"
"Who knows? He's a crackpot, I told you. Who cares what he means,anyway. We've got far more important things to worry about."
Fenwick scanned the letter a moment, then looked up, a faint smile onhis face. "I know what he means. Urban--Pope Urban--was the oneresponsible for the persecutions of Galileo."
Baker shrugged embarrassedly. "I told you he was a crackpot. Delusionsof grandeur and of persecution are typical."
"This boy may not be as crazy as he sounds. You're giving him a prettygood imitation of a Galileo treatment--won't even look at his device. Hesays here that 'Since you have previously refused to examine my deviceand have questioned my reliability as an observer, I have obtained theservices of three unbiased witnesses, whose affidavits, signed andnotarized, are attached. These men are the Fire Chief, the Chief ofPolice, and the Community Church Pastor of Redrock, all of whom testifythat they did see my device in full operation this past week. I trustthat this evidence will persuade you that an investigation should bemade of my device. I fail to see how the bull-headedness andcocksureness of your office can withstand any more of the evidence Ihave to offer in support of my claims.'"
"A typical crackpot letter," said Baker. "He tries to be reasonable, buthis colors are soon shown when he breaks down into vituperative languagelike a frustrated child."
Fenwick thumbed through the large pile of correspondence. "I'd sayany
body would likely blow his stack a good deal harder than this if he'dbeen trying to get your attention this long. Why didn't he ever send youone of his gadgets in the mail?"
"Oh, he did," said Baker. "That was one of the first things he did."
"What did you do?"
"Sent it back. We always return these things by registered return mail."
"Without even trying it out?"
"Of course."
"Bill, that isn't even reasonable. These earlier letters of his describethe growing of these crystals. He tells exactly how he does it. He knowswhat he's talking about. I'd like to see him and see his crystal."
"That's what I was hoping you'd say! All we have to do is get Doris togive him a call and he'll be here first thing in the morning. You can beour official investigator. You can see what it's like dealing with acrackpot!"
* * * * *
James Ellerbee was a slim man, impetuous and