Free Tomorrow! by Philip Wylie Page B

what—industries did you memorize last night?”

    Nora stood. It was her opinion that she was being picked on. Inasmuch as she had done no memorizing whatsoever, she could only regard her predicament in that light. It would not have occurred to her (under these circumstances) that very little in this wide world bored Mrs.
    Brock more than the lists of what nations and cities made and shipped to each other. Nora was incapable of imagining—for all the yeastiness of her brain—that teachers even had such feelings, or to guess that Mrs. Brock had singled her out in the hope that her voluble memory would complete the dull circuit faster than any other pupil’s.

    In her dilemma, however, Nora was not without resources. She had, to begin with, lived in Green Prairie for eleven years, the sum total of her life. She was observant. Her family was a lively one. She had also perceived early in her school career that where a long list is asked for—
    or a complex matter is to be discussed—and where the victim of such inquiry is unprepared, a very thorough exposition of some recollected or guessed—at portion of the unknown whole will satisfy a teacher, even fool one, and often lead to a good mark when Hat failure threatened.

    “Green Prairie,” Nora therefore began, taking her time, “has a vast metals industry. Early settlers in the area noticed the peculiar color of some of the rocks. These rocks, occurring in sandstone hills, are much older than most of the Missouri Basin. They were pushed up by volcanoes before the dinosaurs came on the earth. They are called igneous intrusions. They contained lead and zinc and other ores—”

    “Just the list,” Mrs. Brock munnured. “The geology is something from last week’s lesson we got from Life magazine. Now. Our industries. Metals smelting is one, of course.”

    “Petroleum. . . .”

    Mrs. Brock nodded. “Green Prairie has a cracking plant.”

    “. . . and, of course, agriculture and all that cities do with it. Sugar beets grow all around, wheat and corn, oats and barley. Green Prairie refines beet sugar and makes oatmeal. It—”

    “Nora. Did you study last night?”

    “Yes, Mrs. Brock.” Nora would have been happy to oblige with a detailed resume of harlotry in Buenos Aires, as noted by two American journalists who had made a three-day survey of the city. But she was not, she realized, on the beam in the matter of “industries.” Hands flew all around her.

    Mrs. Brock sighed. “Sit down, Nora. Charles Williams.”

    Charles stood. His small, marblelike eyes squinted, and his freckled face tipped back, his stomach mightily protruding. His voice shrilled and its every syllable was a wound to Nora’s self-esteem: “Steel, limestone, coking ovens, brick, brine, sulphuric acid, light metals including a large aluminum plant, airplane frames, farm machinery—this is the biggest business in the area—dairy products, furniture, pumps, hardware of all sorts, tools, dies, wool and flax fabrics, beet sugar”—his slitted eye rolled on Nora—“one of the least important industries—and also paint, dyes, wallpaper, plastics, patent medicines and varnish. Linoleum, soap, industrial resins and greases and potash. Doll carriages, cement—” his memory gave out.

    “Very good—very good, indeed, Charles! Evelyn?”

    A solemn child with a pale face, bangs and a surprisingly animated, even sassy voice said, “He forgot—toothpaste, synthetic flavorings, canned vegetables and a small but promising garment industry.”

    “Excellent! Now, what does River City make and do besides these?”

    Hands fluttered again, like confetti.

    Roy Rich filled in: “River City has many of those industries, also.” His eyes did not squint, but shut, as he consulted memory and ripped off in a staccato: “World’s biggest built-in, tractor-plow factory, huge ceramics industry, lead and zinc smelters, electric-furnace reduction plants, nation’s eighth largest surgical aid