Vag leaned over the back of the chair and glared down at the flying typewriter keys. "Just what are you putting me up to now?" he sniffed. "Haven't I been busy enough lately, what with compulsory physical exercise, buying a victory bond, and even getting on Dean's List with my six courses and accelerated tutorial? You don't want me to turn into a hysterical muddlehead like the Blot, do you?"

He turned away and began to pace up and down the editorial room, looking a little cramped, because the room wasn't very big. "So you want me to give my books away for the soldiers and sailors. Yes, I know they're having a drive tonight. Sure, it doesn't cost anything. But I need my books--I thought I was supposed to be getting an education here--no, maybe not all of them, maybe there are a few I haven't looked at since I bought them. They want magazines too, do they? Well, that's one thing they're welcome to. I've been tripping over that stack of "Life" every time I walked into the living room for the last three months. Oh fudge! Take the books! Take everything! But leave me alone!"

The even rhythm of the typewriter hadn't been interrupted. "All right then, don't thank me." Vag stormed out of the room. The door slammed emphatically.