Looking over shoulders, Herries made out Greenstein, sprawled on a bench and singing. There were chuckles from the listeners, Well-deserved: the kid was good; Herries wished he could relax and simply enjoy the performance. Instead, he must note that they were finding it pleasant, and that swamp and war were alike forgotten for a valuable few minutes.

The song ended. Greenstein stood up and stretched. “Hi, boss,” he said.

Hard, wind-beaten faces turned to Herries and a mumble of greeting went around the circle. He was well enough liked, he knew, insofar as a chief can be liked. But that is not much. A leader can inspire trust, loyalty, what have you, but he cannot be humanly liked, or he is no leader.

“That was good,” said Herries. “I didn’t know you played.”

“I didn’t bring this whangbox with me, since I had no idea where I was going till I got here,” answered Greenstein. “Wrote home for it and it arrived today.”

A heavy-muscled crewcut man said, “You ought to be on the entertainment committee.” Herries recognized Worth, one of the professional patriots who would be standing guard on Symonds’ crates; but not a bad sort, really, after you learned to ignore his rather tedious opinions.

Greenstein said an indelicate word. ‘‘I’m sick of committees,” he went on. “We’ve gotten so much into the habit of being herded around—everybody in the twentieth century has—that we can’t even have a little fun without first setting up a committee.”

Worth looked offended but made no answer. It began to rain again, just a little.

“Go on now, anyway,” said Joe Eagle Wing. “Let’s not take ourselves so goddam serious. How about another song?”

“Not in the wet.” Greenstein returned his guitar to its case. The group began to break up, some to the hall and some back toward their barges.

Herries lingered, unwilling to be left alone with himself. “About that committee,” he said. “You might reconsider. It’s probably true what you claim, but we’re stuck with a situation. We’ve simply got to tell most of the boys, ‘Now it is time to be happy,’ or they never will be.”

Greenstein frowned. “Maybe so. But hasn’t anyone ever thought of making a fresh start? Of unlearning all those bad habits?”

“You can’t do that within the context of an entire society’s vices,” said Herries. “And how’re you going to get away?”

Greenstein gave him a long look. “How the devil did you ever get this job?” he asked. “You don’t sound like a man who’d be cleared for a dishwashing assistantship.”

Herries shrugged. “All my life, I’ve liked totalitarianism even less than what passes for democracy. I served in a couple of the minor wars and—No matter. Possibly I might not be given the post if I applied now. I’ve been here more than a year, and it’s changed me some.”

“It must,” said Greenstein, flickering a glance at the jungle.

“How’s things at home?” asked Herries, anxious for another subject.