A Matter for Men

TWENTY-FIVE

I HADN'T thought about Whitlaw in a while.

I wondered if he was still alive. I'd never given it any thought before; I couldn't imagine him dead. I'd always just assumed he would be one of the survivors.

But then again, I couldn't imagine Shorty being dead either. Or my dad. And they were-so what did it matter whether I could imagine it or not? The universe was going to do what it damn well wanted regardless how I or anyone else felt about it.

Whitlaw ran his class the same way. He didn't care how we felt either. "You don't get to vote," he used to say. "You already did when you put yourself in this class. You belong to me, body and mind, until I'm ready to turn you loose upon the world."

The class was a two-semester unit. Toward the end of the first semester, Whitlaw abruptly asked, "Does anyone here know why this is a required course?"

"If we don't take it, we don't graduate." That was one of the mindless lurches who usually roosted in the last row of seats. A couple of his buddies laughed.

Whitlaw eagle-eyed the hulk over the heads of the rest of us. He gave him a thorough half-second of examination and then said, "That isn't the answer I was looking for, but considering the source, I guess it's the best I could have expected. Anyone else?"

No. No one else.

"It'll be the first question on your final exam." he prompted. Someone groaned.

Whitlaw stumped back to his desk. I wondered if his limp were bothering him. He didn't look happy. He opened the loose-leaf binder he used as his source book and paged through it silently, until he found the page he was looking for. He studied it with a thoughtful frown. After a moment, he looked up again. "No takers?"

No. We'd gotten too smart for that.

"Too bad. All right-we'll try it this way then. How many of you think it's appropriate for a population to rebel against tyranny?"

A few hands went up immediately. Then a few more, tentatively, as if terrified that they were volunteering to be on the front lines. Then a few more. I raised my hand. Pretty soon almost everyone had. Whitlaw didn't wait to see if it would be unanimous. He pointed at one of the abstainers. "How about you? Don't you think so?"

"I think you have to define your terms. You're being too general. What tyranny? Which one?"

Whitlaw straightened and eyed the fellow with narrowed eyes. "Are you on the debate team? No? Well, you ought to consider it. You're doing everything but confronting the issue. So all right, I'll make it easy on you-" He closed his book.

"-Let's say this room is the nation of Myopia. I'm the government. You're the citizens. Now, you know governments are not free. So the first thing I'm going to do is collect taxes. I want one casey from each of you." He started striding down the aisles. "Give me a casey. No, I'm not joking. These are your taxes. Give me a casey. You too. Sorry, I don't accept checks or paper money. What? That's your lunch money? Gee, that's tough, but your government's needs come first."

"But that's not fair!"

Whitlaw stopped, his hand full of coins. "Who said that? Take him out and execute him for sedition!"

"Wait a minute! Don't I get a fair trial?"

"You just had one. Now shut up. You've been executed." Whitlaw kept collecting. "Sorry, I want exact change. You don't have it? Don't worry about it. In your case, I'll levy a four-casey surcharge. Consider it a penalty for paying your taxes with paper money. Thank you. Thank you-fifty, seventy-five, a casey, thank you. All right, I've got forty-eight caseys here. This'll buy me a good lunch. Everybody be sure to bring another casey tomorrow. I'll be collecting taxes every day from now on."

We looked at each other nervously. Who was going to be first to complain? Wasn't this illegal-a teacher taking money from his class?

A tentative hand. "Uh, sir ... your majesty?"

"Yes?"

"Uh, can I ask a question?"

"Mm, depends on the question."

"Can we ask what you're going to do with our money?"

"It's not your money anymore. It's mine."

"But it was ours to start with-"

"-and now it's mine. I'm the government." He slid open his desk drawer and dropped the coins loudly into it. "Eh? Your hand is still up?"

"Well, it just seems to me-to all of us-"

"To all of you?" Whitlaw looked at us with raised eyebrows. "Is this an insurrection that I see before me? I guess I'd better hire an army." He stumped to the back of the room, pointing at the huskiest boys in the class. "You, you and, ah, yes, you too. And you. Come up front. You're now in the army." He opened the drawer and scooped up coins. "Here are two caseys for each of you. Now, don't let any of this rabble near the royal palace."

The four boys looked uncertain. Whitlaw shoved them into position between himself and the class. "Now then-you were saying?"

"Mr. Whitlaw!" Janice MacNeil, a tall black girl, stood up. "All right! You've made your point. Now give everybody back their money-" Janice was in student government.

Whitlaw peered between the shoulders of two of his tallest "soldiers." He grinned. "Uh uh," he said. "This game is being played for keeps. Now, what are you going to do about it?"

Janice didn't fluster. She said, "I'll go to a higher authority." Whitlaw was still grinning. "There aren't any. This class is autonomous. See that plaque on the wall? That's the charter of the Federal Education System. You've been in this classroom nearly every day for eighteen weeks, and I'll bet you still haven't read it, have you? Too bad-because that's the contract you agreed to when you entered this classroom. I have total authority over you."

"Well, of course, I understand that!" she snapped. "But I'm talking about the real world now. You have to give us back our money!"

"You don't understand." Whitlaw grinned at her. "This is the real world. Right here. And I don't have to. I am empowered by the federal government to do whatever is necessary to fulfill the course requirements. And that includes taxes-if I so deem it necessary."

She folded her arms. "Well, we don't have to cooperate."

Whitlaw shrugged. "Fine. I'll have you arrested."

"What? You'll send me to the principal's office?"

"No, I mean arrested, as in read you your rights and throw you in the slammer, the lockup, the hoosegow, durance vile, the Bastille, the Tombs, the Tower of London, Devil's Island and Alcatraz-do I make myself clear?"

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. Look it up."

"But that's not fair!"

"So what? You already agreed to it, so what are you complaining about?" He tapped two of his troops. "Throw her out of here-and that other fellow too, the one we executed earlier. They're automatically flunked." Whitlaw's army didn't look happy about it, but they started down the aisle.

Janice looked genuinely scared, but she scooped up her books and clipboard and went.

"You'll wait next door until the period is over," Whitlaw said. "Anyone else want to question the authority of this government?"

No. Nobody else did.

"Good." Whitlaw sat down and put his feet up on his desk. "I'm flunking everyone who opens his mouth out of turn." He picked up a book and an apple, opened the book and started reading. Periodically, he would take a loud bite from his apple, audibly reminding us of his presence.

The army looked uncertain. "Should we sit down, sir?"

"Of course not. You're on duty."

The rest of us exchanged glances. What was the point of this? The fellow to whom Whitlaw had recommended joining the debate team leaned over and whispered to a friend, "He's daring us to try something."

"Well, you try. I don't want to get thrown out."

"But don't you see, if we all organize-"

Whitlaw stood up suddenly, glowering. "What's that? Sounds like subversion to me!" He stepped forward and grabbed the debater by his shirt, pulling him out of his seat. "I won't have that!" He dragged the boy out of the room.

In the brief moment that he was gone, there was bedlam. "The man's a loonie-"

"-This is crazy-"

"-Can't we do something?"

I stood up. "Listen! We outnumber him! We don't have to let him get away with this."

"Shut up, Jim! You're just gonna get us all in worse trouble!"

"Let him talk-"

"You got an idea, Jim?"

"Well, no ... but . . ."

Whitlaw came back in then, and I slid back into my seat fast enough to feel the heat.

Whitlaw turned to his troops. "What kind of army are you? I leave the room for less than a minute, and I come back to find rabble-rousers preaching sedition in the aisles! I want you to arrest and expel every one who complained-or you'll get thrown out too!"

There were five of us.

"Is that all?" Whitlaw bellowed. "If you missed anyone, I'll have your heads!"

The army looked scared. After a moment's whispered conference, they picked three more people and all eight of us trooped out.

"But I didn't even say anything!" Joey Hubre looked close to tears. "Tell him!" he appealed to his twin.

"You do," shouted Whitlaw, "and you go too. In fact, you'd better go anyway-you're probably both trouble!"

There were twelve of us in the next-door classroom. We sat glumly looking at each other. Confused, puzzled and very hurt. We could hear Whitlaw bellowing. And then, abruptly, there was silence. A moment after that, three more exiles joined us. "What'd he do? Execute the class?"

"Naw-he declared a national silence," said Paul Jastrow. "That's why he threw us out. I passed a note. He said I was publishing treason."

"What's he trying to prove?" complained Janice.

"Tyranny, I guess. That's what started this, remember?"

"Well, what are we supposed to do about it?"

"Isn't it obvious? We're supposed to rebel!"

"Oh, sure! We can't even open our mouths to complain! How are we going to organize?"

"We can organize," I said. "In here. We'll form an army of liberation. The other class members will support us."

"You sure of that? He's got them so terrified they're pissing in their pants."

"Well, we've got to try," said Hank Chelsea, standing up. "I'm for it."

"Count me out," said Jastrow.

I stood up. "I think it's the only way."

Janice stood up. "I-I don't like this, but I'll go along with it because we've got to show him he can't do this to us."

Two of the other boys stood up, and one of the girls. "Come on, John. Joey?"

"Uh uh. I don't want to get yelled at anymore."

"Aren't you angry?"

"I just want my money back."

"Paul?"

"He'll just throw us out again."

"Wait a minute, Jim." That was Mariette. "Just what is it you want us to do anyway? What's your plan?"

"We go in there and declare the dictatorship over."

"Oh, sure, and then he yells at us some more and his army throws us out again. He's hired two more thugs."

"They're not thugs, they just look like it."

"All football players are thugs to me. Anyway, there's six of 'em now. So what are you gonna do about that?"

Six people started to answer her at once, but Hank Chelsea held up his hand and said, "No, wait-she's right! We need a plan! Look, try this. We open all three doors of the room at once-that startles everybody. Then, before he can say anything, the girls have got to go for the army-no, listen to me. I'm betting that they won't hit the girls. What you do is put one girl on each soldier. She gives him a big hug and a kiss and tells him to join us-"

"Yeah, and then what?"

"-and that we'll pay them double what he's paying them!"

"He's paying them three caseys each now."

"No, they'll join us. But only if each girl takes one boy. Grab his arm and start talking to him. Say whatever you have to, and don't let go until he agrees to join us."

"Yeah, right, Mr. Big Shot. So you get the women to do the dirty work. What are the men going to do?"

"We're going after the honcho and reclaiming the national treasury."

We debated the plan for a few more minutes, during which time two more exiles joined us. They agreed to join the revolution almost immediately and suggested some refinements to the attack. We were almost ready when Joey Hubre sniffled and said, "What if someone gets hurt? What about that?"

That stopped us for a moment, and we had to rethink our plan again. But Paul Jastrow said, "Well, what of it? This is war, isn't it?"

"No, he's right," said Hank. "Maybe Whitlaw wouldn't care if he hurt anyone, but we're supposed to be an army of liberation. We're not going to hurt anyone."

"Unless they ask for it," muttered Jastrow.

"No, not even then," snapped Hank.

"Who appointed you general? I didn't!"

"All right-" Hank put up his hands. "We'll take a vote-"

"No!" I said. "We have a plan. We're ready to go! Armies don't vote!"

"They do now!" said Jastrow.

"But not in times of war! Is there anyone who needs to vote?"

"Yeah, I want to go over this war plan again-"

"Oh, terrific! There goes the revolution! Let's have a parliamentary battle instead. Wait a minute, I've got a copy of Robert's Rules of Order here-"

"McCarthy, shut up! You're an asshole!"

"Yeah? Then why are you the one who's giving us shit?"

"Hey, wait a minute-we're being distracted from our goal by this! We're forgetting who the real enemy is." Hank Chelsea stepped between us. "Now, look, we've got a plan. Let's do it! All right?"

Jastrow looked at Chelsea's proffered hand skeptically. "I don't like this-"

"Aw, come on, Paul," said Mariette and Janice, and then everybody else said it too, and Paul looked embarrassed and shrugged and said, "All right," and we went and invaded Mr. Whitlaw's Global Ethics course.

He was ready for us.

All the desks had been piled up to form a barricade across half the room. The kingdom of Myopia had built a Maginot Line. We stopped and looked at each other.

"I've heard of paranoia, but this is crazy!" said Janice. "Yeah. Well, I told you it wouldn't work," growled Paul. "Now what do we do?" said Mariette.

We stood there exchanging glances. "Can we pull it down?"

"We could try," I said. "But I don't think that's the way we're supposed to solve this problem."

"Okay, Mr. Megabyte," said Paul Jastrow. "What's your solution?"

"I don't have one. I just said, I didn't think the physical way is the answer. I think we're supposed to use our brains here." I shut up then. I realized I was looking straight through the barrier at Whitlaw. He was making notes on a clipboard, but he had paused and was looking at me with a slight smile. "Um . . ." I tried to continue, but my train of thought had disappeared. "Let's have a conference. In the hallway. I think I have an idea."

We trooped out to the hall. I said, "I think we should go in and try to negotiate a peace treaty."

"He's not going to negotiate with us."

"Yes, he is." I said.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because they can't get out of there unless they do. We have the side of the room with the doors. I don't think they're going to want to climb out of a third-story window."

There was a moment of appreciative silence. You could almost hear the smiles spreading.

"Yeah, let's go. Who's got a handkerchief? We need a white flag-"

We trooped back in and announced, "We come in peace. We want to negotiate a settlement."

"Why should I? You're a bunch of radicals and subversives who were thrown out of the system because you wouldn't cooperate with it."

"The system doesn't work," said Janice. "We want a better one."

"Yeah," said Mariette. "One we can be a part of."

"You're already part of the system. You're the rebels. We have to have rebels to punish as examples."

"Well, we don't want to be rebels anymore!"

"Too bad," said Whitlaw from behind his barrier. "You're troublemakers. The only role for you is rebels. That's what you're good at." We could see him grinning.

"You gotta take us back, Whitlaw-" That was Paul Jastrow.

"Eh? I don't gotta anything!"

"Yes, you do," I said. "You can't get out of the room until we let you."

"Ahh," he said. "You found something to bargain with. All right, what is it you want?"

"We want our money back!" screamed Joey Hubre. Joey?

"We want to come back to class," said Janice.

"-amnesty!" said Paul.

"-a fair deal!" I said.

"-respect!" said Mariette.

"-the rights of Englishmen," said Hank quietly, and we all turned to look at him.

"Huh?"

But Whitlaw was grinning. "You-your name? Chelsea? Right." He made a note on his clipboard. "A for the day. Now let's see if you can keep it. What are those rights?"

Hank was standing before the barrier of desks, his arms folded. "No more taxes, Mr. Whitlaw, unless we get some say in how the money is to be spent. No more expulsions from the class unless there's a fair hearing. No more unfair use of force. We want the right to disagree with you, and the right to express our disagreements freely without you throwing us out."

"It's my classroom and the law says I can run it any way I want."

"Well, then we want that law changed."

"Sorry, that's one law I didn't make. I can't change that."

"It doesn't matter. You can change the way you run your class. You said you have autonomy. Let's negotiate some changes that'll make this class acceptable to all of us."

"Since when do students have the right to tell teachers how to teach?"

"Since we have all the doors!" cried Paul.

"Shh!" said Hank.

"Who appointed you president?"

"Will you shut up? One person is supposed to talk for all of us!"

"I didn't agree to that!"

"It doesn't matter what you agreed to-it's the way things are!"

"You're just as bad as he is! Well, the hell with you, then!" Paul marched to the end of the room and sat down, glowering. Hank looked around at the rest of us, a little panicky. "Listen, people-if we don't cooperate with each other, this isn't going to work. We can't show any weakness."

"Yeah," said Janice. "Hank's right. We can't bog down in arguments among ourselves."

"Yeah, but that's no license for you to take over," said Mariette. "Paul's right. We didn't have an election."

"Wait a minute," I said. "I don't want to argue-and I agree with you that we've all gotta pull together or we'll certainly be pulled apart-but I think we have to recognize that each of us is in this rebellion for a different reason and each of us wants to have a say in the negotiations. I want the same thing Paul wants-to be heard."

"May I say something?" John Hubre stepped forward, the silent twin. "Let's draft a list of our demands, and vote on the ones that we want to make Whitlaw adhere to."

Hank looked defeated. "All right. Who's got some paper? I'll write 'em down."

"No," said John. "We'll put them on the screen, where everyone can see them. And I think the entire class should discuss them and vote on them. Is that okay by you, Mr. Whitlaw?"

"Do I have any choice?"

John looked startled. "Uh ... no. Of course not."

"May I offer a suggestion?" asked Whitlaw.

"Uh ... all right."

"Let's dismantle this mountain of furniture so we can operate in a more civilized situation. The rest of this war is cancelled until further notice."

In short order, we looked like a classroom again, except that instead of tyrannizing us, Whitlaw was standing quietly to one side, observing-and only occasionally offering suggestions. The list of demands grew to thirty in less than five minutes. Whitlaw looked them over, snorted and said, "Don't be silly." The class reactions ranged from, "Huh? What's wrong with these demands?" to "You don't have any choice!"

He held up a hand. "Please-I want you all to take another look at this list. Most of your grievances appear to be legitimate, but take another look and see if you notice something about your demands."

"Well, some of these are kind of petty," said Paul Jastrow. "I mean, like number six. No more ripping shirts. Maybe that one's important to Doug-but how important is it to the rest of us?"

Janice said, "And some of them are redundant-like the right to express ourselves freely encompasses the right to assemble and the right to speak and the right to publish-so we don't have to list all three, do we?"

And then other voices chimed in with their opinions. Whitlaw had to hold up a hand for silence.

He said, "You're all right, of course. It's important to have protection for every situation, whether we specify it or not. I suggest that what you're looking for is an umbrella under which you can operate-an all-purpose rule."

He let us argue for only a few moments, then brought us back to the issue again. "Your demands are valid. Look at your rules again, and see if you can boil them down to one or two sentences."

We did as he suggested. With a little help, eventually we came up with "The government shall be accountable to the people for its actions. The people shall have the right to express their differences freely."

"Congratulations," smiled Whitlaw. "Now what happens if I refuse to accept it?"

"You don't have any choice," said Mariette.

"Why not?"

"Because if you don't, we'll just rebel again."

"Uh huh. What if I hire some more football players?"

"You can't afford to hire as many as you'll need."

"I'll raise taxes."

That prompted some groans and an immediate response from one of the boys who had not been expelled. "Where do I sign up to join the rebellion?"

"That's why you don't have any choice," Hank said. "You don't have the tax base."

"You're right," Whitlaw said. He went back to the front of the room. "All right, then-are we in agreement on this point? That if a government is not accountable to its citizenry, that citizenry is justified in removing that government from power-by whatever means necessary?"

There was general assent.

"I see. The kicker in there is the last line. `By whatever means necessary.' Obviously it includes open rebellion. How about terrorism? How about assassination? And at what point do you decide that those actions are necessary?"

Paul Jastrow was still sullen. He said, "When there's no other course of action left to us."

"All right, let's consider that. Was your rebellion justified?" General assent.

"Because I didn't want to listen to what you wanted to say, right?"

Again agreement.

Whitlaw said, "Suppose I had set up a complaint box. Would the rebellion still have been justified?"

There was a thoughtful pause while each of us considered it. I raised my hand. "What would you do with the complaints put into the box?"

Whitlaw grinned. "I'd throw them away at the end of each day without reading them."

"Then, yes," I said. "The rebellion would have been justified."

"What if I read the complaints?"

"What would you do about them?"

"'Nothing."

"It's still justified."

"What if I acted on those I agreed with? All the ones that didn't inconvenience me personally."

I thought about it. "No, that's still not good enough."

Whitlaw looked exasperated. "What is it you people want?"

"A fair system of handling our grievances."

"Ahh, now we're getting somewhere. Do you begin to understand now? Your credo up there is very pretty, but it's worthless without the legal guarantees to back it up. What kind of system are you asking for-uh, McCarthy, is it?"

"Yes, sir. How about an arbitration panel of three students? You pick one, we pick one and they pick the third. My father's union uses that system to handle disagreements."

"All right, suppose I decreed that's the kind of system we'll have?"

"No, sir, it has to be voted on. We all have to agree to it. Otherwise, it's still a case of you dictating to us."

Whitlaw nodded and looked at his watch. "Congratulations. In just a little more than an hour, you've recreated more than a thousand years of human history. You've overthrown a government, established a charter for a new system and created a court system with which to enforce it. That's a fair day's work."

The bell rang then. We'd used an entire ninety-minute class period. As we started to gather our books, Whitlaw held up a hand. "Hold it. Stay in your seats. You're not going to your next class today. Don't worry, your other instructors have been informed. They know not to expect you. Does anyone need to pee? Okay, take ten minutes. Be back here and ready to go at eleven-forty."

When we resumed, Joey Hubre was the first to raise his hand. "When do we get our money back?"

Whitlaw looked at him severely. "Don't you understand? You don't. The government always plays for keeps."

"But ... but ... but we thought this was-"

"What? A game?" Whitlaw looked a little angry. "Weren't you paying attention? This was a tyranny! Would you have overthrown the government if you thought I wasn't playing for keeps? Of course not!"

"All I want is my money back-"

"It's part of the national treasury now. And even if I wanted to give it back, I couldn't. I've been overthrown. It's up to the new government to decide what to do with the money."

The classroom was getting tense again. Janice stood up and said, "Mr. Whitlaw! You were wrong to take our money!"

"No, I wasn't-as soon as I declared myself a government, I was within my rights. You were wrong for letting me get away with it. Every single one of you. You!" He pointed at the first student who had handed over a casey. "-you were wrong for handing me that first coin. Why did you do it?"

"You told me to."

"Did I tell you I was going to give you anything in return for it?"

"No."

"Did I tell you I was going to give it back to you when we were through?"

"No."

"Then why did you give it to me?"

"Uh..."

"Right. You gave it to me. I didn't take it. So why are you telling me I'm the one who did wrong?"

"You had an army!"

"Not until after you gave me the money to pay for it." He said to the whole class, "Your only mistake was your timing. You should have rebelled when I declared myself your government. I had no right to do so, but you let me get away with it. You should have demanded accountability then-before I had enough money to hire an army."

He was right. He had us there. We all looked a little embarrassed.

"Well, what do we do now?" wailed Mariette.

"I don't know. I'm not the government anymore. You overthrew me. You took away my power. All I'm doing now is following orders. Your orders. I'll do anything with this money that a majority of you can agree on."

It took less than thirty seconds to pass a resolution requiring the disbursement of all funds collected in the recent taxation.

Whitlaw nodded and opened his desk drawer. He started counting coins. "Uh, we have a problem-there are forty-four of you in this class. But there are only thirty caseys here. If you'll remember, the former government spent eighteen caseys on an army."

Four people stood up to author the next resolution, requiring the return of funds paid to former members of the Imperial Guard. Whitlaw vetoed that. "Sorry. Doesn't that fall into the realm of confiscation? Remember the five-casey note I took unfairly? You just had a rebellion because you didn't want a government able to do that. Now you're setting up a new government to do exactly the same thing."

"But this is different-"

"No it isn't! Confiscation is confiscation! It doesn't matter who does the confiscating-the person still loses something!"

"But ... then how do we redress previous wrongs?"

"I don't know either. You're the government now. You tell me."

"So why can't we just take the money back?"

"Because the army was fairly paid. They did their job and they were paid a fair wage for what they did. You can't take that money away from them now because it's theirs."

"But you had no right to give it to them!"

"Yes, I did! I was the government!"

Hank Chelsea was standing then. "Wait a minute, sir! I think we all understand what you're trying to teach us. We have to find a fair way to do this, don't we?"

"If you can, you'll be a better man than I am. In the eleven years that I've been teaching this class, not one session has ever found a way that was both fair and legal to take money out of one person's pocket and put it into another's." He motioned for Hank to sit down. "Let me give you this to think about: a government-any government-is nothing more than a system for reapportioning wealth. It takes money from one group of people and gives it to another group of people. And when it happens that enough people decide that they don't like the way the wealth is being reapportioned, that's when that government will be replaced by another one more to the people's liking. As has happened here! But you cannot use the new government to redress all of the wrongs of the previous government-not without creating far more problems than you'll ever clean up. You'll end up with a government entirely concerned with past events and not present ones. That's a sure way to set yourself up to fail. If you're going to win at this game, you have to deal with circumstances the way they are, not the way they used to be or the way you'd like them to be. In other words, only operate on those events you have control over. That's the only way to produce results. The real question, then, is, what do you have control over? We'll probably spend the rest of the semester tackling that one. Right now, let's handle the immediate problem." He opened his desk drawer. "There are forty-four of you and only thirty caseys here. If you don't reimburse the six members of the Imperial Guard, you're still going to be eight caseys short. And one of you is going to be at least four caseys short because I took a fiver off him."

It was moved, seconded and approved to return four caseys to Geoff Miller to bring his loss into line with the rest of ours. This left the national treasury at twenty-six caseys. We were now short twelve caseys if we wanted to return the money equally.

One of the former members of the Imperial Guard stood up. "Here, I'll give back the extra two caseys that Whitlaw paid me. I don't think it's fair for me to keep it." He poked his buddy, who also stood up. "Yeah, me too." Two more former soldiers also chipped in then, but the last two just sat in the back of the room with their arms folded.

"We earned it fairly. We're entitled to it."

"Well," said Whitlaw, "that brings the national debt down to two caseys. Not bad. Now all you have to do is decide who gets the short straws."

"This isn't fair!" said Mariette again.

Whitlaw agreed with her. "You're beginning to see it. No matter how hard we try, the government cannot be fair to everybody. Cannot. The very best that it can do is treat everybody equally unfairly."

The immediate classroom problem was finally resolved when John Hubre realized that the casey isn't indivisible. Thirty-eight students, each of whom had paid one casey in taxation, were repaid ninety-four cents each. There was twenty-eight cents left over. Whitlaw started to pocket it, but Hank Chelsea said quickly, "Sorry-that's the national treasury. We'll have one of our own hold it, if you don't mind."

Whitlaw passed it over with a grin. "You're learning," he said.