[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science-Fiction, November 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Walter Franks sat in the director's office; his feet on the director's desk. He was smoking one of the director's cigarettes. He was drinking the director's liquor, filched shamelessly from the director's private filing cabinet where it reposed in the drawer marked "S." Drawer "B" would have given beer, but Walt preferred Scotch.…
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