"It's a glorious death—I mean to say, a glorious turnover!" argued my visitor. And then, with a disappointed expression, "However, if you're not out for honors, I suppose we can find you some humbler job. What about a position in the Mulflar Works?"
"But is that safe?"
"Safe?" The Unemployment Agent glared at me angrily. "Who cares if it is safe? Of course it isn't! You may be blown to shreds and splinters any wake! But what of that? Is anything safe in modern life? It's all a matter of the degree of risk! And, besides, the salary is high."
"I'm not greedy for a high salary," I remarked.
"Oh, well, if that's the way you feel, of course we can fix you up!" returned the chalk-face, contemptuously. "There's never much demand for low-paying jobs."
Again he stared at the chart, and, after a moment of indecision, suggested, "Let's see now—we might make you valet to a First Class Citizen. The wages are not very good, but the work is easy. All you would have to do would be to dust off your master's eye-tubes, or hold his megaphone to his mouth when he speaks, or adjust his breathing tubes when they get out of order, or merely stand in his reception hall and look stiff and official when he receives visitors. And whenever he kicks you or cuffs you or calls you names, you would have to bow respectfully, and say 'Thank you, sir!' What do you say?"
"Haven't you anything else?" I asked, in desperation.
The agent scowled again. "You're a hard man to suit!" he declared. "I really don't know what else to offer you. If you weren't a barbarian, we might place you in the Department of Public Unenlightenment—vulgarly known as the Censorship Bureau—whose business it is to keep the public from knowing too much. But no—that won't do at all! Third Class citizens are not eligible!"
Once more he paused, his long black-draped fingers tapping at his knees; and for a moment I feared that no further suggestions would be forthcoming.