School."

"That's a good question." Prestonby hastily assessed the circumstances
and their implications. "I'd suggest that you ask it of my superior,
Literate Lancedale, however."

The Literate in the screen blinked; that was the equivalent, for him,
of anybody else's jaw dropping to his midriff.

"Well! A pleasure, Literate. Good day."

* * * * *

"Miss Pelton!" The man in the blue-and-orange suit was still trying to
catch her attention. "Where are we going to put that stuff? Russ
Latterman's out in the store, somewhere, and I can't get in touch with
him."

"What did you say it was?" she replied.

"Fireworks, for the Peace Day trade. We want to get it on sale about
the middle of the month."

"This was a fine time to deliver them. Peace Day isn't till the Tenth
of December. Put them down in the fireproof vault."

"That place is full of photographic film, and sporting ammunition, and
other merchandise; stuff we'll have to draw out to replace stock on
the shelves during the sale," the Illiterate objected.