Made to Measure

By WILLIAM CAMPBELL GAULT

Illustrated by L. WOROMAY

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction January 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Somewhere is an ideal mate for every man and woman, but Joe wasn't willing to bet on it. He was a man who rolled his own!

The pressure tube locks clicked behind them, as the train moved on. It was a strange, sighing click and to Joe it sounded like, "She's not right—she's not right—she's not right—"

So, finally, he said it. "She's not right."

Sam, who was riding with him, looked over wonderingly. "Who isn't?"

"Vera. My wife. She's not right."

Sam frowned. "Are you serious, Joe? You mean she's—?" He tapped his temple.

"Oh, no. I mean she's not what I want."

"That's why we have the Center," Sam answered, as if quoting, which he was. "With the current and growing preponderance of women over men, something had to be done. I think we've done it."

Sam was the Director of the Domestic Center and a man sold on his job.

"You've done as well as you could," Joe agreed in an argumentative way. "You've given some reason and order to the marital competition among women. You've almost eliminated illicit relations. You've established a basic security for the kids. But the big job? You've missed it completely."

"Thanks," Sam said. "That's a very small knife you've inserted between my shoulder blades, but I'm thin-skinned." He took a deep breath. "What, in the opinion of the Junior Assistant to the Adjutant Science Director, was the big job?"

Joe looked for some scorn in Sam's words, found it, and said, "The big job is too big for a sociologist."

Sam seemed to flinch. "I didn't think that axe would fit alongside the knife. I underestimated you."

"No offense," Joe said. "It's 

  P 1/21 next