about this fellow or that fellow. No guessing; you just study what's on the slip."
There was a quality in Praska's voice now that gave Perry pause. He had heard that speculative, slow, thoughtful tone before. Usually it meant that the guard, after his own deliberate fashion, was establishing a point he wanted to make. Perry glanced at him suspiciously.
"Funny, isn't it," the guard went on, "how important things are always set down in writing and not left to chance. The man who buys a house gets a deed. If he puts money in the bank he gets a bank book. If he goes into business he hires a bookkeeper."
"What's funny about that?" Perry wanted to know.
"Nothing." Praska's voice was mild. "If a big business house has a good job open and three men apply, it makes them fill out a statement. With everything before it, it can think things over, decide what man is best qualified, and—"
But Perry waited to hear no more. A light had broken upon him. One movement and he was out of the seat; another, and he was in the aisle of the coach.
"Leading up to another argument about the home room election, aren't you?" he demanded. "Almost caught me, too, didn't you? Getting so a
