"All right, put yer clothes on," said the recruiting sergeant.
"Quick, I can't spend all day. Why the hell did they send you down
here alone?"

"The papers were balled up," said Andrews.

"Scores ten years...in test B," went on the voice of the man at the
typewriter. "Sen...exal ment...m-e-n-t-a-l-i-t-y that of child of
eight. Seems unable...to either.... Goddam this man's writin'. How
kin I copy it when he don't write out his words?"

"All right. I guess you'll do. Now there are some forms to fill
out. Come over here."

Andrews followed the recruiting sergeant to a desk in the far
corner of the room, from which he could hear more faintly the
click, click of the typewriter and the man's voice mumbling
angrily.

"Forgets to obey orders.... Responds to no form of per...suasion.
M-e-m-o-r-y, nil."

"All right. Take this to barracks B.... Fourth building, to the
right; shake a leg," said the recruiting sergeant.

Andrews drew a deep breath of the sparkling air outside. He stood
irresolutely a moment on the wooden steps of the building looking
down the row of hastily constructed barracks. Some were painted
green, some were of plain boards, and some were still mere