"How's your leg?"
"Leg's all right, Dad." His answer was not frank; his right leg, fresh from a corrective operation for a short Achilles' tendon, was aching as he spoke.
"That's good. Now see here, Matt-if it should work out that you aren't selected,. don't let it get you down. You call me at once and-"
"Sure, sure, Dad," Matt broke in. "Ill have to sign off-I'm in a crowd. Good-by. Thanks for calling."
"Good-by, son. Good luck."
Tex Jarman looked at him understandingly. "Your folks always worry, don't they? I fooled mine-packed my phone in my bag." The slidewalk swung in a wide curve preparatory to heading back; they stepped off with the crowd, in front of Hayworth Hall. Tex paused to read the inscription over the great doorway. "Quis custodi- What does it say, Matt?"
"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes. That's Latin for: Who will watch the guardians?"
"You read Latin, Matt?"
"No, I just remember that bit from a book about the Patrol."
The rotunda of Hayworth Hall was enormous and seemed even larger, for, despite brilliant lighting at the floor level, the domed ceiling gave back no reflection at all; it was midnight black-black and studded with stars. Familiar stars-blazing Orion faced the tossing head of Taurus; the homely shape of the Dipper balanced on its battered handle at north-northeast horizon; just south of overhead the Seven Sisters shone.