“I am not in the habit of asking people to do things,” Blake said. “But I’m going to ask you to reconsider your decision. After all, you’ve proved your point, haven’t you? Not that it needed proving: I told you long ago that people were sheep. Your work is finished. Why go on?”

“Finished?” Adam grinned. “My work is just beginning! I’ve made contacts in half a dozen other states. The organization is building all the time; it’s building, growing stronger. Fellow in Alabama called me long distance yesterday, wanting to start a chapter in Mobile. He can get a state charter. Hell, Max—there’s no telling how far this thing can go! Did I write you about the university?”

Blake shook his head slowly.

“White Citizens College!” Adam said. “No kidding. I’ve got a promise of funds from this guy Shipman I told you about, and we’ll be ready to lay the foundation in a few weeks. Also, I’ve found another way to corral the herd, and it’s working: the fluoride gimmick. You know: ‘They’re poisoning our water and charging us for it!’ ” He laughed softly. “Half of Farragut will shift over to our side when I bring this out.”

He went to the bureau and withdrew a newspaper.

“I’ll pick up five thousand of these this afternoon from the Orange press. Guy in the Council, Holliman, runs it. Take a look—and don’t laugh, because this is the kind of thing that’s dragging them in. I spent two hours with the PTA—with quite a few of them, anyway—and all I talked about was Frobenius! And you know what? They loved it!”

Blake glanced at the newspaper and tossed it aside. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose and then replaced the glasses. “Very—impressive,” he said.

“Well, it wasn’t all me. You helped an awful lot.”

“Don’t say that!” Blake began to breathe heavily. “I am going to be frank with you now,” he said. “I want you to stop what you are doing here. I want you to stop and leave the South immediately.”

Adam froze.

“Why?” he said.

“Because you must!” Blake’s shirt front was stained dark with perspiration now. The muscles in his throat were moving. “Do you have any idea of the notoriety this nonsense has attracted? It’s on the front of every newspaper in California!”

“Well?”

“Is that what you’re after? Notoriety?”

Adam looked at his former teacher, and tried desperately not to believe the thoughts that were crowding upon his mind.

“I can answer that best,” he said, “by quoting a guy who lives in Westwood and teaches political theory: ‘Today’s notoriety is tomorrow’s fame.’ ”