"You sit tight," said Felix, "and don't go out of your apartment. I'll do a little calling and see what can be worked out."
The next friend was polite but regretful. Awfully sorry not to oblige Master Hamilton but he was acting under instructions. Could Master Hamilton speak with his principal? Now, really, that was hardly procedure. But he admitted that the circumstances were unusual-give him a few minutes, then he would phone back.
Hamilton received permission to speak to the principal; called him. No, the challenge could not be lifted-and the conversation was strictly under the rose. Procedure, you know. He was willing to accept a formal apology; he did not really wish to kill the man.
Hamilton explained that Smith would not accept the humiliation-could not, because of his psychological background. He was a barbarian and simply could not see things from a gentleman's point of view. Hamilton identified Smith as the Man from the Past.
The principal nodded. "I know that now. Had I known that before, I would have ignored his rudeness-treated him as a child. But I didn't know. And now, in view of what he did-well, my dear sir, I can hardly ignore it, can I?"
Hamilton conceded that he was entitled to satisfaction, but suggested it would make him publicly unpopular to kill Smith. "He is rather a public darling, you know. I am inclined to think that many will regard it as murder to force him to fight."
The citizen had thought of that. Rather a dilemma, wasn't it?
"How would you like to combat him physically-punish him the way he damaged you, only more so?"
"Really, my dear sir!"
"Just an idea," said Hamilton. "You might think about it. May we have three days grace?"
"More, if you like. I told you I was not anxious to push it to a duel. I simply want to curb his manners. One might run into him anywhere."
Hamilton let it go, and called Mordan, a common thing when he was puzzled. "What do you think I ought to do, Claude?"
"Well, there is no real reason why you should not let him go ahead and get himself killed. Individually, it's his life; socially, he's no loss."
"You forget that I am using him as a translator. Besides, I rather like him. He is pathetically gallant in the face of a world he does not understand."
"Mmm ... well, in that case, we'll try to find a solution."
"Do you know, Claude," Felix said seriously, "I am beginning to have my doubts about this whole custom. Maybe I'm getting old, but, while it's lots of fun for a bachelor to go swaggering around town, it looks a little different to me now. I've even thought of assuming the brassard."
"Oh, no, Felix, you mustn't do that!"
"Why not? A lot of people do."
"It's not for you. The brassard is an admission of defeat, an acknowledgement of inferiority."
"What of it? I'd still be myself. I don't care what people think."
"You're mistaken, son. To believe that you can live free of your cultural matrix is one of the easiest fallacies and has some of the worst consequences. You are part of your group whether you like it or not, and you are bound by its customs."
"But they're only customs!"
"Don't belittle customs. It is easier to change Mendelian characteristics than it is to change customs. If you try to ignore them, they bind you when you least expect it."
"But dammit! How can there be any progress if we don't break customs?"
"Don't break them-avoid them. Take them into your considerations, examine how they work, and make them serve you. You don't need to disarm yourself to stay out of fights. If you did you would get into fights-I know you!-the way Smith did. An armed man need not fight. I haven't drawn my gun for more years than I can remember."
"Come to think about it, I haven't pulled mine in four years or more."
"That's the idea. But don't assume that the custom of going armed is useless. Customs always have a reason behind them, sometimes good, sometimes bad. This is a good one."
"Why do you say that? I used to think so, but I have my doubts now."
"Well, in the first place an armed society is a polite society. Manners are good when one may have to back up his acts with his life. For me, politeness is a sine qua non of civilization. That's a personal evaluation only. But gun-fighting has a strong biological use. We do not have enough things to kill off the weak and the stupid these days. But to stay alive as an armed citizen a man has to be either quick with his wits or with his hands, preferably both. It's a good thing.
"Of course," he continued, "our combativeness has to do with our ancestry and our history." Hamilton nodded; he knew that Mordan referred to the Second Genetic War. "But we have preserved that inheritance intentionally. The Planners would not stop the wearing of arms if they could."
"Maybe so," Felix answered slowly, "but it does seem like there ought to be a better way to do it. This way is pretty sloppy. Sometimes the bystanders get burned."
"The alert ones don't," Mordan pointed out. "But don't expect human institutions to be efficient. They never have been; it is a mistake to think that they can be made so-in this millennium or the next."
"Why not?"
"Because we are sloppy, individually-and therefore collectively. Look at a cageful of monkeys, at your next opportunity. Watch how they do things and listen to them chatter. You'll find it instructive. You'll understand humans better."
Felix grinned. "I think I see what you mean. But what am I to do about Smith?"
"If he gets out of this, I think he had better wear a gun after this. Perhaps you can impress on him then that his life will depend on the softness of his words. But for the present-I know this chap he challenged. Suppose you suggest me as referee."
"Are you going to let them fight?"
"In my own way. I think I can arrange for them to fight barehanded." Mordan had delved back into his encyclopedic memory and had come put with a fact that Hamilton would not fully appreciate. Smith had come from a decadent period in which handfighting had become stylized as fist fighting, No doubt he was adept in it. It was necessary for one not to use the gun with which he was adept; it was equitable that the other not use fists, were he adept in their use. So Mordan wished to referee that he might define the rules.
It is not necessary to give overmuch attention to that rather unimportant and uncolorful little man, J. Darlington Smith. Hamilton was forced to withdraw as next friend, since Carruthers needed him at the time, and did not therefore see the encounter. He learned of it first by discovering that Smith was immobilized in an infirmary, suffering from some rather unusual wounds. But he did not quite lose the sight of his left eye and his other damages were mostly gone in a couple of weeks.
All of which happened some days later than the conversation with Mordan.
Hamilton turned back to his work. There were various little matters to attend to. One team of researchers in particular belonged to him alone. He had noticed when he was a boy that a physical object, especially a metallic one, brought near to his forehead above the bridge of the nose seemed to produce some sort of a response inside the head, not connected, apparently, with the physiological senses. He had not thought of it for many years, until the Great Research had caused him to think of such things. Was it real, or was it imagination? It was a mere tightening of the nerves, an uneasy feeling, but distinct and different from any other sensation. Did other people have it? What caused it? Did it mean anything?
He mentioned it to Carruthers who had said, "Well, don't stand there speculating about it. Put a crew to work on it." He had. They had already discovered that the feeling was not uncommon but rarely talked about. It was such a little thing and hard to define. Subjects had been found who had it in a more marked degree than most-Hamilton ceased being a subject for experimentation himself.