Hank took his handkerchief from his breast pocket and polished his
rimless glasses. He said evenly, "They sell for just under two hundred
dollars."
"Two hundred dollars?" Twombly twisted his face. "They can't transport
them from China for that."
"Here we go again," Hank sighed. "They also can't sell pressure
cookers for a dollar apiece, nor cameras with f.2 lenses for five
bucks. Not to speak of the fact that the Czechs can't sell shoes for
fifty cents a pair and, of course, the Russkies can't sell premium
gasoline for five cents a gallon."
Twombly muttered, "They undercut our prices faster than we can vote
through new subsidies. Where's it going to end Henry?"
"I don't know. Perhaps we should have thought a lot more about it ten
or fifteen years ago when the best men our universities could turn out
went into advertising, show business and sales--while the best men the
Russkies and Chinese could turn out were going into science and
industry." As a man who worked in the field Hank Kuran occasionally
got bitter about these things, and didn't mind this opportunity of
sounding off at the chief.
Hank added, "The height of achievement over there is to be elected to
the Academy of Sciences. Our young people call scientists egg-heads,
and their height of achievement is to become a TV singer or a movie
star."
Morton Twombly shot his best field man a quick glance. "You sound as
though you need a vacation, Henry."
Henry Kuran laughed. "Don't mind me, chief. I got into a hassle with
the Hungarians last week and I'm in a bad frame of mind."
Twombly said, "Well, we didn't bring you back to Washington for a
trade conference."
"I gathered that from your wire. What _am_ I here for?"
Twombly pushed his chair back and came to his feet. It occurred to
Hank Kuran that his chief had aged considerably since the forming of
this department nearly ten years ago. The thought went through his
mind, _a general in the cold war. A general who's been in action for a
decade, has never won more than a skirmish and is currently in full
retreat._