living on campus. He was not a philosophy professor, of course, but a member of the political science group.

"Carlson," he asked nervously, "have you heard about it yet?"

"I have no idea," I returned good-naturedly. "Heard about what?"

He looked behind him as if he thought he might be followed. Then he whirled around, his sharp-featured face alight with feeling. "Carlson—the Wistick dufels the Moraddy!" And he stared at me intently, his gimlet eyes almost blazing.

I stared back at him blankly.

"You haven't heard!" he exclaimed. "I thought surely you would know about it. You're always talking about freedom to apply thought for the good of humanity. Well, we're finally going to do something about it. You'll see. Keep your ears open, Carlson." Then he turned and started out of the room. He paused at the threshold and fixed me again with his ferretlike eyes. "The Wistick dufels the Moraddy!" he said, and vanished through the door.

And that was my first unheeded omen of what was to come. I paid little attention to it. Lillick wasn't the sort of man who inspired attention. As a matter of fact, I considered reporting him to the head of his department as being on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But I didn't. In those days, nervous breakdowns were a common occurrence around college campuses. The educational profession was a very hazardous occupation. One Southern university, for example, reported five faculty suicides during spring quarter.

In the days that followed, however, I began to realize that there was some sort of movement being fostered by the student body. It couldn't be defined, but it could be felt and seen. The students began to form groups and hold meetings—often without official sanction. What they were about could not be discovered, but some of the results soon became evident.

For one thing, certain students began to walk on one side of the street and the other students walked on the other side. The ones who used the north side of the street wore green sweaters with white trousers or skirts, and the south-side students wore white sweaters with green trousers or skirts. It even got to the point where those in green sweaters went only to classes in the morning and those in white attended the afternoon sessions.

Then the little white cards began to appear. They were sent through the mail. They were slipped under doorways and in desk drawers. They turned up 

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