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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32431-h.zip b/32431-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f3b41f --- /dev/null +++ b/32431-h.zip diff --git a/32431-h/32431-h.htm b/32431-h/32431-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc1ec43 --- /dev/null +++ b/32431-h/32431-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1200 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Model Of A Judge, by William Morrison. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Model of a Judge, by William Morrison + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Model of a Judge + +Author: William Morrison + +Illustrator: Burchard + +Release Date: May 19, 2010 [EBook #32431] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MODEL OF A JUDGE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<h1>THE MODEL OF A JUDGE</h1> + +<h2>By WILLIAM MORRISON</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by BURCHARD</h3> + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction +October 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the +U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>Should a former outlaw become a judge—even if he need only +pass sentence on a layer cake?</i></div> + + +<p>Ronar was reformed, if that was the right word, but he could see that +they didn't trust him. Uneasiness spoke in their awkward hurried motions +when they came near him; fear looked out of their eyes. He had to +reassure himself that all this would pass. In time they'd learn to +regard him as one of themselves and cease to recall what he had once +been. For the time being, however, they still remembered. And so did he.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Claymore, of the Presiding Committee, was babbling, "Oh, Mrs. +Silver, it's so good of you to come. Have you entered the contest?"</p> + +<p>"Not really," said Mrs. Silver with a modest laugh. "Of course I don't +expect to win against so many fine women who are taking part. But I just +thought I'd enter to—to keep things interesting."</p> + +<p>"That was very kind of you. But don't talk about not winning. I still +remember some of the dishes you served for dinner at your home that time +George and I paid you a visit. Mmmmm—they were really delicious."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Silver uttered another little laugh. "Just ordinary recipes. I'm so +glad you liked them, though."</p> + +<p>"I certainly did. And I'm sure the judge will like your cake, too."</p> + +<p>"The judge? Don't you usually have a committee?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He could hear every word. They had no idea how sharp his sense of +hearing was, and he had no desire to disconcert them further by letting +them know. He could hear every conversation taking place in ordinary +tones in the large reception room. When he concentrated he could make +out the whispers. At this point he had to concentrate, for Mrs. Claymore +leaned over and breathed into her friend's attentive ear.</p> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<p>"My dear, haven't you heard? We've had such trouble with that +committee—there were such charges of favoritism! It was really awful."</p> + +<p>"Really? But how did you find a judge then?"</p> + +<p>"Don't look now—no, I'll tell you what to do. Pretend I said something +funny, and throw your head back and laugh. Take a quick glance at him +while you do. He's sitting up there alone, on the platform."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Silver laughed gracefully as directed, and her eyes swept the +platform. She became so excited, she almost forgot to whisper.</p> + +<p>"Why, he's—"</p> + +<p>"Shhh. Lower your voice, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Why—he isn't human!"</p> + +<p>"He's supposed to be—now. But, of course, that's a matter of opinion!"</p> + +<p>"But who on Earth thought of making him judge?"</p> + +<p>"No one on Earth. Professor Halder, who lives over on that big asteroid +the other side of yours, heard of the troubles we had, and came up with +the suggestion. At first it seemed absurd—"</p> + +<p>"It certainly seems absurd to me!" agreed Mrs. Silver.</p> + +<p>"It was the only thing we could do. There was no one else we could +trust."</p> + +<p>"But what does he know about cakes?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, he has the most exquisite sense of taste!"</p> + +<p>"I still don't understand."</p> + +<p>"It's superhuman. Before we adopted Professor Halder's suggestion, we +gave him a few tests. The results simply left us gasping. We could mix +all sorts of spices—the most delicate, most exotic herbs from Venus or +Mars, and the strongest, coarsest flavors from Earth or one of the +plant-growing asteroids—and he could tell us everything we had added, +and exactly how much."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"I find that hard to believe, Matilda."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it? It's honestly incredible. If I hadn't seen him do it myself, +I wouldn't have believed it."</p> + +<p>"But he doesn't have human preferences. Wasn't he—wasn't he—"</p> + +<p>"Carnivorous? Oh, yes. They say he was the most vicious creature +imaginable. Let an animal come within a mile of him, and he'd scent it +and be after it in a flash. He and the others of his kind made the moon +he came from uninhabitable for any other kind of intelligent life. Come +to think of it, it may have been the very moon we're on now!"</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"Either this, or some other moon of Saturn's. We had to do something +about it. We didn't want to kill them off, naturally; that would have +been the easiest way, but so uncivilized! Finally, our scientists came +up with the suggestion for psychological reforming. Professor Halder +told us how difficult it all was, but it seems to have worked. In his +case, at least."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Silver stole another glance. "Did it? I don't notice any one going +near him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we don't like to tempt fate, Clara. But, if there were really any +danger, I'm sure the psychologists would never have let him out of their +clutches."</p> + +<p>"I hope not. But psychologists take the most reckless risks +sometimes—with other people's lives!"</p> + +<p>"Well, there's one psychologist who's risking his own life—and his own +wife, too. You know Dr. Cabanis, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Only by sight. Isn't his wife that stuck-up thing?"</p> + +<p>"That's the one. Dr. Cabanis is the man who had actual charge of +reforming him. And he's going to be here. His wife is entering a cake."</p> + +<p>"Don't tell me that she really expects to win!"</p> + +<p>"She bakes well, my dear. Let's give the she-devil her due. How on Earth +an intelligent man like Dr. Cabanis can stand her, I don't know, but, +after all, he's the psychologist, not I, and he could probably explain +it better than I could."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Ronar disengaged his attention.</p> + +<p>So Dr. Cabanis was here. He looked around, but the psychologist was not +in sight. He would probably arrive later.</p> + +<p>The thought stirred a strange mixture of emotions. Some of the most +painful moments of his life were associated with the presence of Dr. +Cabanis. His early life, the life of a predatory carnivore, had been an +unthinkingly happy one. He supposed that he could call his present life +a happy one too, if you weren't overly particular how you defined the +term. But that period in between!</p> + +<p>That had been, to say the least, painful. Those long sessions with Dr. +Cabanis had stirred him to the depths of a soul he hadn't known he +possessed. The electric shocks and the druggings he hadn't minded so +much. But the gradual reshaping of his entire psyche, the period of +basic instruction, in which he had been taught to hate his old life so +greatly that he could no longer go back to it even if the way were open, +and the conditioning for a new and useful life with human beings—that +was torture of the purest kind.</p> + +<p>If he had known what was ahead of him, he wouldn't have gone through it +at all. He'd have fought until he dropped, as so many of the others like +him did. Still, now that it was over, he supposed that the results were +worth the pain. He had a position that was more important than it seemed +at first glance. He exercised control over a good part of the food +supply intended for the outer planets, and his word was trusted +implicitly. Let him condemn an intended shipment, and cancellation +followed automatically, without the formality of confirmation by +laboratory tests. He was greatly admired. And feared.</p> + +<p>They had other feelings about him too. He overheard one whisper that +surprised him. "My dear, I think he's really handsome."</p> + +<p>"But, Charlotte, how can you say that about someone who isn't even +human!"</p> + +<p>"He looks more human than many human beings do. And his clothes fit him +beautifully. I wonder—does he have a tail?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I know of."</p> + +<p>"Oh." There was disappointment in the sound. "He looks like a pirate."</p> + +<p>"He was a kind of wolf, they tell me. You'd never guess, to see him, +that he ran on all fours, would you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not. He's so straight and dignified."</p> + +<p>"It just shows you what psychology can do."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Psychology, and a series of operations, dear ladies," he thought +sarcastically. "Without them I wouldn't be able to stand so nice and +straight with the help of all the psychologists in this pretty little +solar system of ours."</p> + +<p>From behind a potted Martian nut-cactus came two low voices—not +whispers this time. And there was several octaves difference in pitch +between them. One male, one female.</p> + +<p>The man said, "Don't be worried, sweetheart. I'll match your cooking and +baking against anybody's."</p> + +<p>There was a curious sound, between a click and a hiss. What human beings +called a kiss, he thought. Between the sexes, usually an indication of +affection or passion. Sometimes, especially within the ranks of the +female sex, a formality behind which warfare could be waged.</p> + +<p>The girl said tremulously, "But these women have so much experience. +They've cooked and baked for years."</p> + +<p>"Haven't you, for your own family?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but that isn't the same thing. I had to learn from a cookbook. And +I had no one with experience to stand over me and teach me."</p> + +<p>"You've learned faster that way than you'd have done with some of these +old hens standing at your elbow and giving you directions. You cook too +well. I'll be fat in no time."</p> + +<p>"Your mother doesn't think so. And your brother said something about a +bride's biscuits—"</p> + +<p>"The older the joke, the better Charles likes it. Don't let it worry +you." He kissed her again. "Have confidence in yourself, dear. You're +going to win."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gregory, it's awfully nice of you to say so, but really I feel so +unsure of myself."</p> + +<p>"If only the judge were human and took a look at you, nobody else would +stand a chance. Have I told you within the last five minutes that you're +beautiful?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Ronar disengaged his attention again. He found human love-making as +repulsive as most human food.</p> + +<p>He picked up a few more whispers. And then Dr. Cabanis came in.</p> + +<p>The good doctor looked around, smiled, greeted several ladies of his +acquaintance as if he were witnessing a private strip-tease of their +souls, and then came directly up to the platform. "How are you, Ronar?"</p> + +<p>"Fine, Doctor. Are you here to keep an eye on me?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly think that's necessary. I have an interest in the results of +the judging. My wife has baked a cake."</p> + +<p>"I had no idea that cake-baking was so popular a human avocation."</p> + +<p>"Anything that requires skill is sure to become popular among us. By the +way, Ronar, I hope you don't feel hurt."</p> + +<p>"Hurt, Doctor? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Come now, you understand me well enough. These people still don't trust +you. I can tell by the way they keep their distance."</p> + +<p>"I take human frailty into account, Doctor. Frailty, and lack of +opportunity. These men and women haven't had the opportunity for +extensive psychological treatment that I've had. I don't expect too much +of them."</p> + +<p>"You've scored a point there, Ronar."</p> + +<p>"Isn't there something that can be done for them, Doctor? Some treatment +that it would be legal to give them?"</p> + +<p>"It would have to be voluntary. You see, Ronar, you were considered only +an animal, and treatment was necessary to save your life. But these +people are supposed to have rights. One of their rights is to be left +alone with their infirmities. Besides, none of them are seriously ill. +They hurt no one."</p> + +<p>For a second Ronar had a human temptation. It was on the tip of his +tongue to say, "Your wife too, Doctor? People wonder how you stand her." +But he resisted it. He had resisted more serious temptations.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A gong sounded gently but pervasively. Dr. Cabanis said, "I hope you +have no resentment against me at this stage of the game, Ronar. I'd hate +to have my wife lose the prize because the judge was prejudiced."</p> + +<p>"Have no fear, Doctor. I take professional pride in my work. I will +choose only the best."</p> + +<p>"Of course, the fact that the cakes are numbered and not signed with the +names of their creators will make things simpler."</p> + +<p>"That would matter with human judges. It does not affect me."</p> + +<p>Another gong sounded, more loudly this time. Gradually the conversation +stopped. A man in a full dress suit, with yellow stripes down the sides +of his shorts, and tails hanging both front and rear, climbed up on the +platform. His eyes shone with a greeting so warm that the fear was +almost completely hidden. "How are you, Ronar? Glad to see you."</p> + +<p>"I'm fine, Senator. And you?"</p> + +<p>"Couldn't be better. Have a cigar."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I don't smoke."</p> + +<p>"That's right, you don't. Besides, I'd be wasting the cigar. You don't +vote!" He laughed heartily.</p> + +<p>"I understand that they're passing a special law to let—people—like me +vote at the next election."</p> + +<p>"I'm for it, Ronar, I'm for it. You can count on me."</p> + +<p>The chairman came up on the platform, a stout and dignified woman who +smiled at both Ronar and the Senator, and shook hands with both without +showing signs of distaste for either. The assembled competitors and +spectators took seats.</p> + +<p>The chairman cleared her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us open this +meeting by singing the <i>Hymn of All Planets</i>."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>They all rose, Ronar with them. His voice wasn't too well adapted to +singing, but neither, it seemed, were most of the human voices. And, at +least, he knew all the words.</p> + +<p>The chairman proceeded to greet the gathering formally, in the name of +the Presiding Committee.</p> + +<p>Then she introduced Senator Whitten. She referred archly to the fact +that the Senator had long since reached the age of indiscretion and had +so far escaped marriage. He was an enemy of the female sex, but they'd +let him speak to them anyway.</p> + +<p>Senator Whitten just as archly took up the challenge. He had escaped +more by good luck—if you could call it good—than by good management. +But he was sure that if he had ever had the fortune to encounter some of +the beautiful ladies here this fine day, and to taste the products of +their splendid cooking and baking, he would have been a lost man. He +would long since have committed polygamy.</p> + +<p>Senator Whitten then launched into a paean of praise for the ancient art +of preparing food.</p> + +<p>Ronar's attention wandered. So did that of a good part of the audience. +His ears picked up another conversation, this time whispered between a +man and a woman in the front row.</p> + +<p>The man said, "I should have put your name on it, instead of mine."</p> + +<p>"That would have been silly. All my friends know that I can't bake. And +it would look so strange if I won."</p> + +<p>"It'll look stranger if I win. I can imagine what the boys in the shop +will say."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the boys in the shop are stupid. What's so unmanly in being able to +cook and bake?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not anxious for the news to get around."</p> + +<p>"Some of the best chefs have been men."</p> + +<p>"I'm not a chef."</p> + +<p>"Stop worrying." There was exasperation in the force of her whisper. +"You won't win anyway."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Sheila—"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"If I win, will you explain to everybody how manly I really am? Will you +be my character witness?"</p> + +<p>She repressed a giggle.</p> + +<p>"If you won't help me, I'll have to go around giving proof myself."</p> + +<p>"Shh, someone will hear you."</p> + +<p>Senator Whitten went on and on.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Ronar thought back to the time when he had wandered over the surface of +this, his native satellite. He no longer had the old desires, the old +appetites. Only the faintest of ghosts still persisted, ghosts with no +power to do harm. But he could remember the old feeling of pleasure, the +delight of sinking his teeth into an animal he had brought down himself, +the savage joy of gulping the tasty flesh. He didn't eat raw meat any +more; he didn't eat meat at all. He had been conditioned against it. He +was now half vegetarian, half synthetarian. His meals were nourishing, +healthful, and a part of his life he would rather not think about.</p> + +<p>He took no real pleasure in the tasting of the cakes and other +delicacies that born human beings favored. His sense of taste had +remained keen only to the advantage of others. To himself it was a +tantalizing mockery.</p> + +<p>Senator Whitten's voice came to a sudden stop. There was applause. The +Senator sat down; the chairman stood up. The time for the judging had +arrived.</p> + +<p>They set out the cakes—more than a hundred of them, topped by icings of +all colors and all flavors. The chairman introduced Ronar and lauded +both his impartiality and the keenness of his sense of taste.</p> + +<p>They had a judging card ready. Slowly, Ronar began to go down the line.</p> + +<p>They might just as well have signed each cake with its maker's name. As +he lifted a portion of each to his mouth, he could hear the quick intake +of breath from the woman who had baked it, could catch the whispered +warning from her companion. There were few secrets they could keep from +him.</p> + +<p>At first they all watched intently. When he had reached the fifth cake, +however, a hand went up in the audience. "Madam Chairman!"</p> + +<p>"Please, ladies, let us not interrupt the judging."</p> + +<p>"But I don't think the judging is right. Mr. Ronar tastes hardly more +than a crumb of each!"</p> + +<p>"A minimum of three crumbs," Ronar corrected her. "One from the body of +the cake, one from the icing, and an additional crumb from each filling +between layers."</p> + +<p>"But you can't judge a cake that way! You have to eat it, take a whole +mouthful—"</p> + +<p>"Please, madam, permit me to explain. A crumb is all I need. I can +analyze the contents of the cake sufficiently well from that. Let me +take for instance Cake Number 4, made from an excellent recipe, well +baked. Martian granis flour, goover eggs, tingan-flavored salt, a trace +of Venusian orange spice, synthetic shortening of the best quality. The +icing is excellent, made with rare dipentose sugars which give it a +delightful flavor. Unfortunately, however, the cake will not win first +prize."</p> + +<p>An anguished cry rose from the audience. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"Through no fault of your own, dear lady. The purberries used in making +the filling were not freshly picked. They have the characteristic flavor +of refrigeration."</p> + +<p>"The manager of the store swore to me that they were fresh! Oh, I'll +kill him, I'll murder him—"</p> + +<p>She broke down in a flood of tears.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Ronar said to the lady who had protested, "I trust, madam, that you will +now have slightly greater confidence in my judgment."</p> + +<p>She blushed and subsided.</p> + +<p>Ronar went on with the testing. Ninety per cent of the cakes he was able +to discard at once, from some fault in the raw materials used or in the +method of baking. Eleven cakes survived the first elimination contest.</p> + +<p>He went over them again, more slowly this time. When he had completed +the second round of tests, only three were left. Number 17 belonged to +Mrs. Cabanis. Number 43 had been made by the man who argued with his +wife. Number 64 was the product of the young bride, whom he had still +not seen.</p> + +<p>Ronar paused. "My sense of taste is somewhat fatigued. I shall have to +ask for a short recess before proceeding further."</p> + +<p>There was a sigh from the audience. The tension was not released, it was +merely relaxed for a short interval.</p> + +<p>Ronar said to the chairman, "I should like a few moments of fresh air. +That will restore me. Do you mind?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not, Mr. Ronar."</p> + +<p>He went outside. Seen through the thin layer of air which surrounded the +group of buildings, and the plastic bubble which kept the air from +escaping into space, the stars were brilliant and peaceful. The Sun, far +away, was like a father star who was too kind to obliterate his +children. Strange, he thought, to recall that this was his native +satellite. A few years ago it had been a different world. As for +himself, he could live just as well outside the bubble as in it, as well +in rarefied air as in dense. Suppose he were to tear a hole in the +plastic—</p> + +<p>Forbidden thoughts. He checked himself, and concentrated on the three +cakes and the three contestants.</p> + +<p>"You aren't supposed to let personal feelings interfere. You aren't even +supposed to know who baked those cakes. But you know, all right. And you +can't keep personal feelings from influencing your judgment.</p> + +<p>"Any one of the cakes is good enough to win. Choose whichever you +please, and no one will have a right to criticize. To which are you +going to award the prize?</p> + +<p>"Number 17? Mrs. Cabanis is, as one of the other women has so aptly +termed her, a bitch on wheels. If she wins, she'll be insufferable. And +she'll probably make her husband suffer. Not that he doesn't deserve it. +Still, he thought he was doing me a favor. Will I be doing him a favor +if I have his wife win?</p> + +<p>"Number 64, now, is insufferable in her own right. That loving +conversation with her husband would probably disgust even human ears. On +the other hand, there is this to be said for her winning, it will make +the other women furious. To think that a young snip, just married, +without real experience in home-making, should walk away with a prize of +this kind!</p> + +<p>"Ah, but if the idea is to burn them up, why not give the prize to +Number 43? They'd be ready to drop dead with chagrin. To think that a +mere man should beat them at their own specialty! They'd never be able +to hold their heads up again. The man wouldn't feel too happy about it, +either. Yes, if it's a matter of getting back at these humans for the +things they've done to me, if it's a question of showing them what I +really think of them, Number 43 should get it.</p> + +<p>"On the other hand, I'm supposed to be a model of fairness. That's why I +got the job in the first place. Remember, Ronar? Come on, let's go in +and try tasting them again. Eat a mouthful of each cake, much as you +hate the stuff. Choose the best on its merits."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>They were babbling when he walked in, but the babbling stopped quickly. +The chairman said, "Are we ready, Mr. Ronar?"</p> + +<p>"All ready."</p> + +<p>The three cakes were placed before him. Slowly he took a mouthful of +Number 17. Slowly he chewed it and swallowed it. Number 43 followed, +then Number 64.</p> + +<p>After the third mouthful, he stood lost in thought. One was practically +as good as another. He could still choose which he pleased.</p> + +<p>The assemblage had quieted down. Only the people most concerned +whispered nervously.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cabanis, to her psychologist husband: "If I don't win, it'll be +your fault. I'll pay you back for this."</p> + +<p>The good doctor's fault? Yes, you could figure it that way if you wanted +to. If not for Dr. Cabanis, Ronar wouldn't be the judge. If Ronar +weren't the judge, Mrs. C. would win, she thought. Hence it was all her +husband's fault. Q.E.D.</p> + +<p>The male baker to his wife: "If he gives the prize to me, I'll brain +him. I should never have entered this."</p> + +<p>"It's too late to worry now."</p> + +<p>"I could yell 'Fire'," he whispered hopefully. "I could create a panic +that would empty the hall. And then I'd destroy my cake."</p> + +<p>"Don't be foolish. And stop whispering."</p> + +<p>The young post-honeymooning husband: "You're going to win, dear; I can +feel it in my bones."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Greg, please don't try to fool me. I've resigned myself to losing."</p> + +<p>"You won't lose."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid. Put your arm around me, Greg. Hold me tight. Will you still +love me if I lose?"</p> + +<p>"Mmmm." He kissed her shoulder. "You know, I didn't fall in love with +you for your cooking, sweetheart. You don't have to bake any cakes for +me. You're good enough to eat yourself."</p> + +<p>"He's right," thought Ronar, as he stared at her. "The man's right. Not +in the way he means, but he's right." And suddenly, for one second of +decision, Ronar's entire past seemed to flash through his mind.</p> + +<p>The young bride never knew why she won first prize.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Model of a Judge, by William Morrison + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MODEL OF A JUDGE *** + +***** This file should be named 32431-h.htm or 32431-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/4/3/32431/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Model of a Judge + +Author: William Morrison + +Illustrator: Burchard + +Release Date: May 19, 2010 [EBook #32431] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MODEL OF A JUDGE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE MODEL OF A JUDGE + + By WILLIAM MORRISON + + Illustrated by BURCHARD + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction +October 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the +U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: _Should a former outlaw become a judge--even if he need only +pass sentence on a layer cake?_] + + +Ronar was reformed, if that was the right word, but he could see that +they didn't trust him. Uneasiness spoke in their awkward hurried motions +when they came near him; fear looked out of their eyes. He had to +reassure himself that all this would pass. In time they'd learn to +regard him as one of themselves and cease to recall what he had once +been. For the time being, however, they still remembered. And so did he. + +Mrs. Claymore, of the Presiding Committee, was babbling, "Oh, Mrs. +Silver, it's so good of you to come. Have you entered the contest?" + +"Not really," said Mrs. Silver with a modest laugh. "Of course I don't +expect to win against so many fine women who are taking part. But I just +thought I'd enter to--to keep things interesting." + +"That was very kind of you. But don't talk about not winning. I still +remember some of the dishes you served for dinner at your home that time +George and I paid you a visit. Mmmmm--they were really delicious." + +Mrs. Silver uttered another little laugh. "Just ordinary recipes. I'm so +glad you liked them, though." + +"I certainly did. And I'm sure the judge will like your cake, too." + +"The judge? Don't you usually have a committee?" + + * * * * * + +He could hear every word. They had no idea how sharp his sense of +hearing was, and he had no desire to disconcert them further by letting +them know. He could hear every conversation taking place in ordinary +tones in the large reception room. When he concentrated he could make +out the whispers. At this point he had to concentrate, for Mrs. Claymore +leaned over and breathed into her friend's attentive ear. + +[Illustration] + +"My dear, haven't you heard? We've had such trouble with that +committee--there were such charges of favoritism! It was really awful." + +"Really? But how did you find a judge then?" + +"Don't look now--no, I'll tell you what to do. Pretend I said something +funny, and throw your head back and laugh. Take a quick glance at him +while you do. He's sitting up there alone, on the platform." + +Mrs. Silver laughed gracefully as directed, and her eyes swept the +platform. She became so excited, she almost forgot to whisper. + +"Why, he's--" + +"Shhh. Lower your voice, my dear." + +"Why--he isn't human!" + +"He's supposed to be--now. But, of course, that's a matter of opinion!" + +"But who on Earth thought of making him judge?" + +"No one on Earth. Professor Halder, who lives over on that big asteroid +the other side of yours, heard of the troubles we had, and came up with +the suggestion. At first it seemed absurd--" + +"It certainly seems absurd to me!" agreed Mrs. Silver. + +"It was the only thing we could do. There was no one else we could +trust." + +"But what does he know about cakes?" + +"My dear, he has the most exquisite sense of taste!" + +"I still don't understand." + +"It's superhuman. Before we adopted Professor Halder's suggestion, we +gave him a few tests. The results simply left us gasping. We could mix +all sorts of spices--the most delicate, most exotic herbs from Venus or +Mars, and the strongest, coarsest flavors from Earth or one of the +plant-growing asteroids--and he could tell us everything we had added, +and exactly how much." + + * * * * * + +"I find that hard to believe, Matilda." + +"Isn't it? It's honestly incredible. If I hadn't seen him do it myself, +I wouldn't have believed it." + +"But he doesn't have human preferences. Wasn't he--wasn't he--" + +"Carnivorous? Oh, yes. They say he was the most vicious creature +imaginable. Let an animal come within a mile of him, and he'd scent it +and be after it in a flash. He and the others of his kind made the moon +he came from uninhabitable for any other kind of intelligent life. Come +to think of it, it may have been the very moon we're on now!" + +"Really?" + +"Either this, or some other moon of Saturn's. We had to do something +about it. We didn't want to kill them off, naturally; that would have +been the easiest way, but so uncivilized! Finally, our scientists came +up with the suggestion for psychological reforming. Professor Halder +told us how difficult it all was, but it seems to have worked. In his +case, at least." + +Mrs. Silver stole another glance. "Did it? I don't notice any one going +near him." + +"Oh, we don't like to tempt fate, Clara. But, if there were really any +danger, I'm sure the psychologists would never have let him out of their +clutches." + +"I hope not. But psychologists take the most reckless risks +sometimes--with other people's lives!" + +"Well, there's one psychologist who's risking his own life--and his own +wife, too. You know Dr. Cabanis, don't you?" + +"Only by sight. Isn't his wife that stuck-up thing?" + +"That's the one. Dr. Cabanis is the man who had actual charge of +reforming him. And he's going to be here. His wife is entering a cake." + +"Don't tell me that she really expects to win!" + +"She bakes well, my dear. Let's give the she-devil her due. How on Earth +an intelligent man like Dr. Cabanis can stand her, I don't know, but, +after all, he's the psychologist, not I, and he could probably explain +it better than I could." + + * * * * * + +Ronar disengaged his attention. + +So Dr. Cabanis was here. He looked around, but the psychologist was not +in sight. He would probably arrive later. + +The thought stirred a strange mixture of emotions. Some of the most +painful moments of his life were associated with the presence of Dr. +Cabanis. His early life, the life of a predatory carnivore, had been an +unthinkingly happy one. He supposed that he could call his present life +a happy one too, if you weren't overly particular how you defined the +term. But that period in between! + +That had been, to say the least, painful. Those long sessions with Dr. +Cabanis had stirred him to the depths of a soul he hadn't known he +possessed. The electric shocks and the druggings he hadn't minded so +much. But the gradual reshaping of his entire psyche, the period of +basic instruction, in which he had been taught to hate his old life so +greatly that he could no longer go back to it even if the way were open, +and the conditioning for a new and useful life with human beings--that +was torture of the purest kind. + +If he had known what was ahead of him, he wouldn't have gone through it +at all. He'd have fought until he dropped, as so many of the others like +him did. Still, now that it was over, he supposed that the results were +worth the pain. He had a position that was more important than it seemed +at first glance. He exercised control over a good part of the food +supply intended for the outer planets, and his word was trusted +implicitly. Let him condemn an intended shipment, and cancellation +followed automatically, without the formality of confirmation by +laboratory tests. He was greatly admired. And feared. + +They had other feelings about him too. He overheard one whisper that +surprised him. "My dear, I think he's really handsome." + +"But, Charlotte, how can you say that about someone who isn't even +human!" + +"He looks more human than many human beings do. And his clothes fit him +beautifully. I wonder--does he have a tail?" + +"Not that I know of." + +"Oh." There was disappointment in the sound. "He looks like a pirate." + +"He was a kind of wolf, they tell me. You'd never guess, to see him, +that he ran on all fours, would you?" + +"Of course not. He's so straight and dignified." + +"It just shows you what psychology can do." + + * * * * * + +"Psychology, and a series of operations, dear ladies," he thought +sarcastically. "Without them I wouldn't be able to stand so nice and +straight with the help of all the psychologists in this pretty little +solar system of ours." + +From behind a potted Martian nut-cactus came two low voices--not +whispers this time. And there was several octaves difference in pitch +between them. One male, one female. + +The man said, "Don't be worried, sweetheart. I'll match your cooking and +baking against anybody's." + +There was a curious sound, between a click and a hiss. What human beings +called a kiss, he thought. Between the sexes, usually an indication of +affection or passion. Sometimes, especially within the ranks of the +female sex, a formality behind which warfare could be waged. + +The girl said tremulously, "But these women have so much experience. +They've cooked and baked for years." + +"Haven't you, for your own family?" + +"Yes, but that isn't the same thing. I had to learn from a cookbook. And +I had no one with experience to stand over me and teach me." + +"You've learned faster that way than you'd have done with some of these +old hens standing at your elbow and giving you directions. You cook too +well. I'll be fat in no time." + +"Your mother doesn't think so. And your brother said something about a +bride's biscuits--" + +"The older the joke, the better Charles likes it. Don't let it worry +you." He kissed her again. "Have confidence in yourself, dear. You're +going to win." + +"Oh, Gregory, it's awfully nice of you to say so, but really I feel so +unsure of myself." + +"If only the judge were human and took a look at you, nobody else would +stand a chance. Have I told you within the last five minutes that you're +beautiful?" + + * * * * * + +Ronar disengaged his attention again. He found human love-making as +repulsive as most human food. + +He picked up a few more whispers. And then Dr. Cabanis came in. + +The good doctor looked around, smiled, greeted several ladies of his +acquaintance as if he were witnessing a private strip-tease of their +souls, and then came directly up to the platform. "How are you, Ronar?" + +"Fine, Doctor. Are you here to keep an eye on me?" + +"I hardly think that's necessary. I have an interest in the results of +the judging. My wife has baked a cake." + +"I had no idea that cake-baking was so popular a human avocation." + +"Anything that requires skill is sure to become popular among us. By the +way, Ronar, I hope you don't feel hurt." + +"Hurt, Doctor? What do you mean?" + +"Come now, you understand me well enough. These people still don't trust +you. I can tell by the way they keep their distance." + +"I take human frailty into account, Doctor. Frailty, and lack of +opportunity. These men and women haven't had the opportunity for +extensive psychological treatment that I've had. I don't expect too much +of them." + +"You've scored a point there, Ronar." + +"Isn't there something that can be done for them, Doctor? Some treatment +that it would be legal to give them?" + +"It would have to be voluntary. You see, Ronar, you were considered only +an animal, and treatment was necessary to save your life. But these +people are supposed to have rights. One of their rights is to be left +alone with their infirmities. Besides, none of them are seriously ill. +They hurt no one." + +For a second Ronar had a human temptation. It was on the tip of his +tongue to say, "Your wife too, Doctor? People wonder how you stand her." +But he resisted it. He had resisted more serious temptations. + + * * * * * + +A gong sounded gently but pervasively. Dr. Cabanis said, "I hope you +have no resentment against me at this stage of the game, Ronar. I'd hate +to have my wife lose the prize because the judge was prejudiced." + +"Have no fear, Doctor. I take professional pride in my work. I will +choose only the best." + +"Of course, the fact that the cakes are numbered and not signed with the +names of their creators will make things simpler." + +"That would matter with human judges. It does not affect me." + +Another gong sounded, more loudly this time. Gradually the conversation +stopped. A man in a full dress suit, with yellow stripes down the sides +of his shorts, and tails hanging both front and rear, climbed up on the +platform. His eyes shone with a greeting so warm that the fear was +almost completely hidden. "How are you, Ronar? Glad to see you." + +"I'm fine, Senator. And you?" + +"Couldn't be better. Have a cigar." + +"No, thank you. I don't smoke." + +"That's right, you don't. Besides, I'd be wasting the cigar. You don't +vote!" He laughed heartily. + +"I understand that they're passing a special law to let--people--like me +vote at the next election." + +"I'm for it, Ronar, I'm for it. You can count on me." + +The chairman came up on the platform, a stout and dignified woman who +smiled at both Ronar and the Senator, and shook hands with both without +showing signs of distaste for either. The assembled competitors and +spectators took seats. + +The chairman cleared her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us open this +meeting by singing the _Hymn of All Planets_." + + * * * * * + +They all rose, Ronar with them. His voice wasn't too well adapted to +singing, but neither, it seemed, were most of the human voices. And, at +least, he knew all the words. + +The chairman proceeded to greet the gathering formally, in the name of +the Presiding Committee. + +Then she introduced Senator Whitten. She referred archly to the fact +that the Senator had long since reached the age of indiscretion and had +so far escaped marriage. He was an enemy of the female sex, but they'd +let him speak to them anyway. + +Senator Whitten just as archly took up the challenge. He had escaped +more by good luck--if you could call it good--than by good management. +But he was sure that if he had ever had the fortune to encounter some of +the beautiful ladies here this fine day, and to taste the products of +their splendid cooking and baking, he would have been a lost man. He +would long since have committed polygamy. + +Senator Whitten then launched into a paean of praise for the ancient art +of preparing food. + +Ronar's attention wandered. So did that of a good part of the audience. +His ears picked up another conversation, this time whispered between a +man and a woman in the front row. + +The man said, "I should have put your name on it, instead of mine." + +"That would have been silly. All my friends know that I can't bake. And +it would look so strange if I won." + +"It'll look stranger if I win. I can imagine what the boys in the shop +will say." + +"Oh, the boys in the shop are stupid. What's so unmanly in being able to +cook and bake?" + +"I'm not anxious for the news to get around." + +"Some of the best chefs have been men." + +"I'm not a chef." + +"Stop worrying." There was exasperation in the force of her whisper. +"You won't win anyway." + +"I don't know. Sheila--" + +"What?" + +"If I win, will you explain to everybody how manly I really am? Will you +be my character witness?" + +She repressed a giggle. + +"If you won't help me, I'll have to go around giving proof myself." + +"Shh, someone will hear you." + +Senator Whitten went on and on. + + * * * * * + +Ronar thought back to the time when he had wandered over the surface of +this, his native satellite. He no longer had the old desires, the old +appetites. Only the faintest of ghosts still persisted, ghosts with no +power to do harm. But he could remember the old feeling of pleasure, the +delight of sinking his teeth into an animal he had brought down himself, +the savage joy of gulping the tasty flesh. He didn't eat raw meat any +more; he didn't eat meat at all. He had been conditioned against it. He +was now half vegetarian, half synthetarian. His meals were nourishing, +healthful, and a part of his life he would rather not think about. + +He took no real pleasure in the tasting of the cakes and other +delicacies that born human beings favored. His sense of taste had +remained keen only to the advantage of others. To himself it was a +tantalizing mockery. + +Senator Whitten's voice came to a sudden stop. There was applause. The +Senator sat down; the chairman stood up. The time for the judging had +arrived. + +They set out the cakes--more than a hundred of them, topped by icings of +all colors and all flavors. The chairman introduced Ronar and lauded +both his impartiality and the keenness of his sense of taste. + +They had a judging card ready. Slowly, Ronar began to go down the line. + +They might just as well have signed each cake with its maker's name. As +he lifted a portion of each to his mouth, he could hear the quick intake +of breath from the woman who had baked it, could catch the whispered +warning from her companion. There were few secrets they could keep from +him. + +At first they all watched intently. When he had reached the fifth cake, +however, a hand went up in the audience. "Madam Chairman!" + +"Please, ladies, let us not interrupt the judging." + +"But I don't think the judging is right. Mr. Ronar tastes hardly more +than a crumb of each!" + +"A minimum of three crumbs," Ronar corrected her. "One from the body of +the cake, one from the icing, and an additional crumb from each filling +between layers." + +"But you can't judge a cake that way! You have to eat it, take a whole +mouthful--" + +"Please, madam, permit me to explain. A crumb is all I need. I can +analyze the contents of the cake sufficiently well from that. Let me +take for instance Cake Number 4, made from an excellent recipe, well +baked. Martian granis flour, goover eggs, tingan-flavored salt, a trace +of Venusian orange spice, synthetic shortening of the best quality. The +icing is excellent, made with rare dipentose sugars which give it a +delightful flavor. Unfortunately, however, the cake will not win first +prize." + +An anguished cry rose from the audience. "Why?" + +"Through no fault of your own, dear lady. The purberries used in making +the filling were not freshly picked. They have the characteristic flavor +of refrigeration." + +"The manager of the store swore to me that they were fresh! Oh, I'll +kill him, I'll murder him--" + +She broke down in a flood of tears. + + * * * * * + +Ronar said to the lady who had protested, "I trust, madam, that you will +now have slightly greater confidence in my judgment." + +She blushed and subsided. + +Ronar went on with the testing. Ninety per cent of the cakes he was able +to discard at once, from some fault in the raw materials used or in the +method of baking. Eleven cakes survived the first elimination contest. + +He went over them again, more slowly this time. When he had completed +the second round of tests, only three were left. Number 17 belonged to +Mrs. Cabanis. Number 43 had been made by the man who argued with his +wife. Number 64 was the product of the young bride, whom he had still +not seen. + +Ronar paused. "My sense of taste is somewhat fatigued. I shall have to +ask for a short recess before proceeding further." + +There was a sigh from the audience. The tension was not released, it was +merely relaxed for a short interval. + +Ronar said to the chairman, "I should like a few moments of fresh air. +That will restore me. Do you mind?" + +"Of course not, Mr. Ronar." + +He went outside. Seen through the thin layer of air which surrounded the +group of buildings, and the plastic bubble which kept the air from +escaping into space, the stars were brilliant and peaceful. The Sun, far +away, was like a father star who was too kind to obliterate his +children. Strange, he thought, to recall that this was his native +satellite. A few years ago it had been a different world. As for +himself, he could live just as well outside the bubble as in it, as well +in rarefied air as in dense. Suppose he were to tear a hole in the +plastic-- + +Forbidden thoughts. He checked himself, and concentrated on the three +cakes and the three contestants. + +"You aren't supposed to let personal feelings interfere. You aren't even +supposed to know who baked those cakes. But you know, all right. And you +can't keep personal feelings from influencing your judgment. + +"Any one of the cakes is good enough to win. Choose whichever you +please, and no one will have a right to criticize. To which are you +going to award the prize? + +"Number 17? Mrs. Cabanis is, as one of the other women has so aptly +termed her, a bitch on wheels. If she wins, she'll be insufferable. And +she'll probably make her husband suffer. Not that he doesn't deserve it. +Still, he thought he was doing me a favor. Will I be doing him a favor +if I have his wife win? + +"Number 64, now, is insufferable in her own right. That loving +conversation with her husband would probably disgust even human ears. On +the other hand, there is this to be said for her winning, it will make +the other women furious. To think that a young snip, just married, +without real experience in home-making, should walk away with a prize of +this kind! + +"Ah, but if the idea is to burn them up, why not give the prize to +Number 43? They'd be ready to drop dead with chagrin. To think that a +mere man should beat them at their own specialty! They'd never be able +to hold their heads up again. The man wouldn't feel too happy about it, +either. Yes, if it's a matter of getting back at these humans for the +things they've done to me, if it's a question of showing them what I +really think of them, Number 43 should get it. + +"On the other hand, I'm supposed to be a model of fairness. That's why I +got the job in the first place. Remember, Ronar? Come on, let's go in +and try tasting them again. Eat a mouthful of each cake, much as you +hate the stuff. Choose the best on its merits." + + * * * * * + +They were babbling when he walked in, but the babbling stopped quickly. +The chairman said, "Are we ready, Mr. Ronar?" + +"All ready." + +The three cakes were placed before him. Slowly he took a mouthful of +Number 17. Slowly he chewed it and swallowed it. Number 43 followed, +then Number 64. + +After the third mouthful, he stood lost in thought. One was practically +as good as another. He could still choose which he pleased. + +The assemblage had quieted down. Only the people most concerned +whispered nervously. + +Mrs. Cabanis, to her psychologist husband: "If I don't win, it'll be +your fault. I'll pay you back for this." + +The good doctor's fault? Yes, you could figure it that way if you wanted +to. If not for Dr. Cabanis, Ronar wouldn't be the judge. If Ronar +weren't the judge, Mrs. C. would win, she thought. Hence it was all her +husband's fault. Q.E.D. + +The male baker to his wife: "If he gives the prize to me, I'll brain +him. I should never have entered this." + +"It's too late to worry now." + +"I could yell 'Fire'," he whispered hopefully. "I could create a panic +that would empty the hall. And then I'd destroy my cake." + +"Don't be foolish. And stop whispering." + +The young post-honeymooning husband: "You're going to win, dear; I can +feel it in my bones." + +"Oh, Greg, please don't try to fool me. I've resigned myself to losing." + +"You won't lose." + +"I'm afraid. Put your arm around me, Greg. Hold me tight. Will you still +love me if I lose?" + +"Mmmm." He kissed her shoulder. "You know, I didn't fall in love with +you for your cooking, sweetheart. You don't have to bake any cakes for +me. You're good enough to eat yourself." + +"He's right," thought Ronar, as he stared at her. "The man's right. Not +in the way he means, but he's right." And suddenly, for one second of +decision, Ronar's entire past seemed to flash through his mind. + +The young bride never knew why she won first prize. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Model of a Judge, by William Morrison + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MODEL OF A JUDGE *** + +***** This file should be named 32431.txt or 32431.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/4/3/32431/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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