Ron’s father said, “I don’t think—”

“No, no, no,” said the Examiner. “The decision must not be made right now. You must take your time and decide by the end of the month. You must think over many different sides of the problem.”

“Of course. Excuse me.”

Turning his gaze back to Ron, the Examiner went on, “In addition to the Service vector, the next choice of Career vector is in the Business community. You can enter the Business college of your choice, with these Exam results behind you. There are several fine schools in this State that are free. There are even better private Business schools, if you so choose.”

Ron nodded.

“The final choice open to you is the University vector. Your high scores in science and the mechanical arts show that you would enjoy a career in science or engineering. You’d need to work a little harder on your math, of course.”

“Yes,” Ron agreed.

“There are very few career openings in the sciences, you must realize. Only a young man with as brilliant an Exam as yours can even think of trying for the sciences. On the other hand, there is a great need for engineers—men who can make machines work properly. If I were making a recommendation, that’s what I would pick for you.”

The Examiner stopped talking and looked at Ron. Not knowing what to say, Ron simply mumbled, “Thank you, sir,” again.

“Very good,” the Examiner said. “Well . . . talk it over. Think about it very carefully. Remember that the choice you make will determine your Career vector for life. This is the most important choice you will ever make, young man. Good luck. I will expect to hear from you by the first . . . no, no, there’s the Labor Day holiday. I will expect to hear from you on the Tuesday after Labor Day.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Morgan said.

The TV screen faded into grayness.

“Son, I’m proud of you!” Mr. Morgan pulled himself up from the sofa and stood before his son, with his hand outstretched. Ron grasped it, grinning and feeling a little sheepish.

His father pumped Ron’s hand hard. “You’ve done very well. Very well indeed.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Come on, let’s go up and tell your mother.”

Mrs. Morgan was quiet and frail. She lived on pills and long talks with doctors on the TV phone. She seldom left her bedroom. When Ron and his father entered her bedroom, she was sitting up in bed, her lounging robe buttoned up to the neck. She smiled and nodded when they told her of the Examiner’s call. Then she called Ron over to her side and hugged him.

“I knew you would make it, Ronnie dear,” she said.

After a few moments of her fussing over Ron, Mr. Morgan took over and pulled him away from her. He towed Ron by the arm out of her bedroom and into his own den. It was a darkly paneled room, part office and part hideaway. Mr. Morgan closed the door firmly and pointed to the chair in front of his desk.