A jar of jelly beans

Half a loaf is better than none. Or, to put it another way, how many jelly beans can you get in ...
By FRANKLIN GREGORY
ILLUSTRATED by SUMMERS
It seemed somehow appropriate to Justin that it was a little child who would finally save the world; since, broadly speaking, it was the little brats who caused the mess in the first place.
Not, Justin hastened to assure Doris with a tenderly approving glance at her expanded umbilical region, that it's all their fault. There's just so damn many of them.
Doris, supine like a pampered queen on the day bed, corrected him gently.
Us, she said. Really, Justin—
Yes, yes, Justin agreed. With a name like mine. I ought to be more fair. Us, it is, of course, all ten damn billion of us. And it was really our Great Granddads to blame. If they'd listened to Huxley and the rest of the population-controllers, we'd not be in this box. We mightn't even be, period.
What a frightening thing to think of!
I only meant, Justin pursued, that since we were all kids, too, once, it does rather keep going back to that. The more kids, the more there are to grow up to beget more kids, ad infinitum till something gives. But with this lousy election coming on, maybe I'm not thinking so straight any more.
You're a very straight thinker, Doris told him, and she smiled proudly at the Nobel scroll on the wall. Everybody at N. Y. U. insists you're an absolute genius, one of the last.
Justin tried, and as usual failed, to contain his sarcasm.