"Subject to call. All leaves read that way now."

"But-How long have you been on leave?"

"Since yesterday. I've been sitting here, waiting for you to show up."

"Yesterday!" And I had spent yesterday giving more kindergarten lectures to brass hats who did not want them. "Oh, for the love of-" I stood up. "Stay right where you are. Don't move. I'll be right back."

I rushed over to the operations office. I got in to see the chief deputy by insisting that I had a very urgent matter that he had to attend to. Oldfield looked up when I came in and said in a surly tone, "What do you want?"

"Look, chief, that series of bedtime stories I'm scheduled to tell: better cancel them."

"Why?"

"I'm a sick man; I've been due for sick leave for a long time. Now I've just got to take it."

"You're sick in the head, if you ask me."

"That's right; I'm sick in the head. Sometimes I hear voices. People have been following me around. I keep dreaming I'm back with the titans." That last point was regrettably true.

"But since when has this being crazy been any handicap in this section?" He leaned back and waited for me to argue the point.

"Look-do I get leave or don't I?"

He fumbled through papers on his desk, found one and tore it up. "Okay. Keep your phone handy; you're subject to recall. Get out."

I got. Mary looked up when I came in and gave me the soft warm treatment again. I said, "Grab your things; we're leaving."

She did not ask where; she simply stood up. I snatched my drink, gulped half of it and spilled the rest. We went up and were out on the pedestrian level of the city before either one of us said anything. Then I asked, "Now-where do you want to get married?"

"Sam, we discussed that before."

"Sure we did and now we are going to do it. Where?"

"Sam, Sam my very dear-I will do what you say. But I am bound to tell you that I am still opposed to it."

"Why?"

"Sam, let's go straight to my apartment. I'd like to cook dinner for you."

"Okay, you can cook dinner-but not in your apartment. And we get married first."

"Please, Sam!"

I heard somebody say, "Keep pitching, kid. She's weakening." I looked around and found that we were playing to a good-sized gallery.

I swept an arm wide, almost clipping the youngster who had given me the advice and shouted irritably, "Haven't you people got anything else to do? Go get drunk!"

Somebody else said, "I'd say he ought to take her offer; he won't get a better one."

I grabbed Mary by the arm and hurried her away from there. I did not say another word until I had gotten her into a cab and closed off the driver's compartment from the lounge. "All right," I said gruffly, "why not get married? Let's have your reasons."

"Why get married, Sam? I'm yours; you don't need a contract."

"Why? Because I love you; that's one reason, damn it!"

She did not answer for quite a while; I thought I had offended her. When she did I could hardly hear her. "You hadn't mentioned that before, Sam."

"Hadn't I? Oh, I must have. I'm sure I have."

"No, I'm sure, quite sure, that you haven't. Why didn't you?"

"Unh, I don't know. Just an oversight, I guess. I'm not right sure what the word 'love' means."

"Neither am I," she said softly, "but I love to hear you say it. Say it again, please."

"Huh? Okay. I love you. I love you, Mary."

"Oh, Sam!"

She snuggled in against my shoulder and began to tremble. I shook her a little. "How about you?"

"Me? Oh, I love you, Sam. I do love you. I've loved you ever since-"

"Ever since when?"

I thought she was going to say that she had loved me ever since I took her place in Project Interview; what she said was, "I've loved you ever since you slapped me."

Is that logic?

The driver was cruising slowly east along the Connecticut coast; I had told him just to drive around. I had to wake him up before I could get him to land us in Westport. We went straight to the City Hall.

I stepped up to a counter in the Bureau of Sanctions and Licenses and said to a clerk there, "Is this where we get married?"

"That's up to you," he answered. "Hunting licenses on the left, dog licenses on the right, this desk is the happy medium-I hope." He leered at me.

I don't like smart boys and the gag was ancient. "Very well," I said stiffly, "will you oblige by issuing us a license?"

"Sure thing. Everybody ought to get married at least once; that's what I keep telling my old lady." He got out a large printed form. "Let's have your serial numbers."

We gave them to him. He slid the form into a typer and recorded them. "Now-are either of you married in any other state?" We said that we weren't; he went on, "You're sure, now? If you are and don't tell me, so I can put a rider on this showing the other contracts, this contract ain't valid."

We told him again that we weren't married anywhere. He shrugged and went on, "Term, renewable, or lifetime? If it's over ten years, the fee is the same as for lifetime; if it's under six months, you don't need this; you get the short form from that vendo machine over there by the wall."

I looked at Mary; she said in a very small voice, "Lifetime."

The clerk looked surprised. "Lady, are you sure you know what you're doing? The renewable contract, with the automatic option clause, is just as permanent and you don't have to go through the courts if you change your mind."

I said, "You heard the lady! Put it down."

"Okay, okay-either party, mutual consent, or binding?"

"Binding," I answered and Mary nodded.

"Binding it is," he agreed, stroking the typer. "Now we come to the meat of the matter: who pays and how much? And is it salary or endowment?"

I said, "Salary"; I didn't own enough to set up a fund.

At the same time and in a firm voice Mary said, "Neither."

The clerk said, "Huh?"

"Neither one," Mary repeated. "This is not a financial contract."

The clerk stopped completely, looked at me, and then looked at Mary. "Now, look, lady," he said reasonably, "don't be foolish. You heard the gentleman say that he was willing to do the right thing."

"No."

"Hadn't you better talk it over with your lawyer before you go ahead with this? There's a public communicator out in the hall."

"No!"

"Well-I'm darned if I see what you need a license for."

"Neither do I," Mary told him.

"You mean you don't want this?"

"No! Put it down the way I told you to. 'No salary'. "

The clerk looked helpless but bent over the typer again. "I guess that's all we need," he said finally. "You've kept it simple, I'll say that for you. 'Do-you both-solemnly-swear-that-the-above-facts-are-true-to-the-best-of-your-knowledge-and-belief-that-you-aren't-entering-into-this-agreement-uninfluenced-by-drugs-or-other-illegal-inducements-and-that-there-exists-no-other-covenants-nor-other-legal-impediments-to-the-execution-and-registration-of-the-above-contract?' "

We both said that we did and we were and it was and there weren't. He pulled the form out of the typer. "Let's have your thumb prints. . . okay; that'll be ten dollars, including the federal tax." I paid him and he shoved the form into the copier and threw the switch. "Copies will be mailed to each of you," he announced, "at your serial-number addresses. Now-what type of ceremony are you looking for? Maybe I can be of help."

"We don't want a religious ceremony," Mary told him and I agreed.

He nodded. "Then I've got just what you're looking for. Old Doctor Chamleigh. He's completely non-sectarian, best stereo accompaniment in town, all four walls and full orchestra. He gives you the whole works, fertility rites and everything, but dignified. And he tops it off with a fatherly straight-from-the-shoulder word of advice. Makes you feel married."