"Not to my knowledge. They took it only last year. Won't do it again
until 1970. Why?"
"As I was trying to tell you, a fellow who said he was a census taker
was just here and damn it, Jim, he wanted to know my considered
ideas of natural resources, birth control, immigration, racial
discrimination, UFO's and half a dozen other things. He threw the
questions at me so fast I became thoroughly confused. What with me
still thinking about the cosmotron, wondering if Brownie will stop
riding me before I do break down, and wondering where Miriam is, I just
had to slow him down so that I could piece together the answers.
"Just about then he staggered as if a fifth of hundred-proof bourbon
had caught up with him and reeled out without a fare-thee-well. I
didn't see which way he went because Jim Moran--he's the new fellow in
the house just down the hill--Jim called to see if the fellow had been
here yet and what I thought of him. If he hit Jim's before me, that
means he should be getting to you within the next half-hour or so."
My front door chimed.
"Sorry, Fitz," I said. "This must be Tessie. She was coming home on the
surface bus. Miriam's with her, so that's one worry off your mind. Take
it easy. I'll call you back."
* * * * *
But it wasn't Tessie. It was a man, dressed in a dark brown business
suit that was tight on his big frame. His face was a disturbing one,
eyes set so wide apart you had trouble meeting them up close and felt
embarrassed shifting your gaze from one to the other.
"Mr. James Rainford?" he asked rhetorically.
"Yes?"
"I'm from the Bureau of the Census," he said calmly.
This couldn't be the same fellow Fitzgerald had encountered. There
must be a group of them covering the neighborhood. In any event, this
man was cold sober. Further, the fastest Olympic runner couldn't have
made the two long blocks from Fitzgerald's house in the time that had
elapsed and this fellow wasn't even breathing hard.
"Let's see your credentials," I said.
I wasn't sure whether he hesitated because he couldn't remember which
pocket they were in or for some other reason; anyway, he did produce
credentials and they were headed U. S. Department of Commerce, Bureau
of the Census, and looked very proper indeed.
But I still couldn't quite believe it. "But the census was taken last
year," I said.
"We have to recheck this area," he said smoothly. "We have reason to
believe that the records are inaccurate."
His eyes were harder to meet than ever.
"Excuse me," I said and stepped out on the stoop, looking down the hill
toward Fitzgerald's house.
Not only was Fitzgerald standing on his tropic forelawn, but so were
the dozen household heads in between, each and every one of them
staring fixedly at the pair of us on my stoop.
"Come in," I said perplexedly and led the way.
When I turned to face him I found that he'd swung a square black box
which resembled a miniature cathode ray oscilloscope from behind his
back and was busily engaged in punching multi-colored buttons tinging
the dim raster. I'm a gadget man--cybernetics is my forte--but I'm
afraid I stared. The most curious wave-forms I have ever seen were
purple-snaking across the 'scope.
"It's a combination memory storage bank and recorder," he explained.
"Electronic shorthand. I'm reading the data which your wife gave to us
and which I'll ask you to verify."
The gadget was a new one to me. I made a mental note to renew my
subscription to _Scientific American_.
"Married," he said. "Ah, yes, expecting!"
"Now will you stop right there!" I cried. "That couldn't be on your
records! A year ago we certainly weren't expecting! Now, look--"
But he kept on with most peculiar enthusiasm. "Quintuplets! Sure! Three
boys and two girls! My congratulations, Mr. Rainford. Thank you for
your time!"
I stood there dazed. Nobody but Doctor Gardiner, Tessie and
myself--well, maybe Miriam Fitzgerald by this time--knew we were
expecting. Even Gardiner couldn't know the division of sexes among the
foetal group at this early stage of development!