"Mrs. Searles, please."
"She's not in just now. Could I take a message?"
I placed the star at the thirty line in the beginning of the first section. Thirty members they'd started with.
"No, thanks. Could you tell me when she'll be back?"
"Not until dinner. She's at the meetin'."
"The sewing club?" I asked.
"No, sir, not that thing. There isn't any Sewing club any more, not for a long time. She's at the Civic Welfare meeting."
Somehow I hadn't expected anything like that.
"Thank you," I said and hung up, and after a moment noticed I was holding a box of red gummed stars in my hand. I closed it and put it down on top of the graph of membership in the sewing circle. No more members....
Poor Caswell. The bet between us was ironclad. He wouldn't let me back down on it even if I wanted to. He'd probably quit before I put through the first slow move to fire him. His professional pride would be shattered, sunk without a trace. I remembered what he said about shooting himself. It had seemed funny to both of us at the time, but.... What a mess that would make for the university.