it with you--sanely."
"Come on over here, Roy," the barber yelled.
"What are you trying to make of this?" Rayber muttered; then he said suddenly, "if you're calling everybody else, why don't you call your boy, George. You afraid to have him listen?"
The barber looked at Rayber for a second without saying anything.
Rayber felt as if he had made himself too much at home.
"He can hear," the barber said. "He can hear back where he is."
"I just thought he might be interested," Rayber said.
"He can hear," the barber repeated. "He can hear what he hears and he can hear two times that much. He can hear what you don't say as well as what you do."
Roy came over folding his newspaper. "Howdy boy," he said, putting his hand on Rayber's head, "let's get on with this speech."
Rayber felt as if he were fighting his way out of a net. They were over him with their red faces grinning. He heard the words drag out--"Well, the way I see it, men elect...." He felt them pull out of his mouth like freight cars, jangling, backing up on each other, grating to a
