"Yes, and you know how I adore order and peace. There shall be no more riots! And tomorrow our little puppets shall go back to their 'dull' lives, as you so wittily put it, and everything shall be as I wish."

Three hours later, Chester McRae arose at the sound of the alarm, dressed in a stupor and stumbled into his kitchen for breakfast.

"My goodness, Chester," said his wife, who had already arisen, "you look grouchier than usual! Ha, ha!"

He smiled wanly and opened the morning paper.

Halfway across town, Bartholomew Oliver was still asleep, casually lost in the pleasures of an erotic dream. But Professor Oswald Williams, his tiny jaw unshaven and his eager eyes shot through with fatigue, had been hard at work for three hours, scribbling down his latest exposure of the logical positivists.

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