"Right away."
Vic wasn't especially gabby. A good-looking young Latin, who knew as much math as most, they'd probably lose him to the draft any day now. Presently, someone knocked on the door.
"Come in."
It wasn't Vic; it was the girl. She laid the pack of problems and their attached work-sheets on the desk, shook her hair into place—did she even have to comb it in the morning when she got up?—looked him briefly in the eye, and turned to go.
"How is Vic these days?" Norm inquired, whimsically. "Is he able to get about?"
The girl smiled politely at this obvious badinage and left.
He checked the problems against cards as he came to them. He knew the punch code well enough to do this in his head, since the kind of operation indicated was quite obvious. But the problems ended with F-151, and the "handsome devil" card was F-152. He got on the phone again.
"Vic? What's your next card number?"
"F-153." One expected a little guy to have a high voice; this one was quite deep, but soft.
"Are the cards numbered very far ahead?"