Sitting in the noisy lunch-time atmosphere of his House dining room, Vag read the typewritten words on the back of a penny post card which had come in his morning mail. "I assume," it began, "that you forgot the appointment I made for a tutorial conference last Monday afternoon. . . ." The words acted like a cold shower on Vag's consciousness. . . . "Please do not fail to appear this afternoon at two o'clock. The assignment, as you know, is . . . " Vag's eyes widened from half-sealed slits to round marbles. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes of two. The assignment was some impossible-sounding psychology book. It didn't matter. No time to do anything about it, anyway. The important thing was to figure out the psychology of a tutor, and within twenty minutes.

It will just come to me. Vag said to himself as he approached his tutor's room. But the thought was more of a prayer than a consolation. He rapidly compared himself to a list of such biblical characters as Daniel in the lion's deu, and Moses at the Red Sea. . . . Surely God must be a consistent sort of person.

Then it did come to him. A million ideas rushed into the vacuum of Vag's mind all at once, and with the force of a hurricane. He saw the whole conference hour within the space of a few seconds . . . the knock on the door . . . Hello, sir. I'm terribly sorry about Monday. Isn't that a new Rembrandt print hanging over the mantlepiece? I think Rembrandt combines the best qualities of both the Dutch and Flemish schools of art, don't you? . . . What did you say? Psychology? Oh --that reminds me. I was talking to my section man the other day after class, and he said you had just published a book which was the last word on schizophrenia. I would like very much to read it, sir . . . Pardon me? The psychology of the Party Line? Why, yes, sir, I use a line at a party every now and then, but I never thought of it in just those terms. . . . Oh! You mean Communism! . . . Well, talking about parties, why don't you come around to a punch I am giving after the football game tomorrow? You will? Swell. I'll see you tomorrow, then, sir. Goodbye . . .

Vag walked down the hall to his tutor's room and was about to knock on the door when he saw a note tacked up and addressed to himself. "Sorry I can't make it this afternoon," it read. "An old classmate just got into Boston and wants me to 'paint the town red.' Will call and make another appointment in the near future." Vag pinched himself hard in three different places, turned a complete somersault, and then whistled, long and low.