They'd Rather Be Right Read Online Free PDF

and gestures.
    “How do you account for this cartoon, then, doc-tor?” he asked with the triumphant expression of hav-ing scored an irrefutable point. The characteristic puerility of it washed away the final residue of irritation on Billings’ mind, and he smiled in genuine amusement.
    “Why, I suspect young Tyler, its author, is just having a bit of fun,” he said slowly. “He’s quite a mischief maker.”
    Rogan’s eyes lighted up with delight at the possibility of a new scent.
    “A student, eh?” he asked quickly. “One of these subversive cults probably. Trying to undermine our faith in our institutions.”
    “The cartoonist is young Raymond Tyler, of Tyler Synthetics,” Billings said quietly. “An only son of the family, I believe.”
    “Ah,” Rogan’s face smoothed of all suspicion instantly. “Just a boyhood prank then.” He was obse-quious at the very name of such a powerful industry. “Boys will be boys, eh, doctor?”
    “This one in particular,” Billings said with a heavy note of irony. “Was that all, Mr. Rogan?” There was a note of unmistakable dismissal in his voice. Even Rogan could not miss it. The little man flushed, and pointedly sat down in a chair as his answer.
    “No, doctor, that was just a preliminary,” he said. “I have a commission for you from Washington.
    You are to head up a new line of research.”
    “I haven’t completed my old line of research, Mr. Rogan,” Billings reminded him. “Inquiry into the reasons for Citizen Neurosis.”
    “That’s canceled, doctor,” Rogan said firmly. “Washington is no longer interested in Civilian Fa-tigue.” He reached out for his ornate brief case, fon-dled it lovingly as he opened it, and drew from it a thick sheaf of papers in a blue binding.
    Billings made an impatient gesture, as if to remonstrate that months of work should not be so easily discarded, and then realized the futility of it. He settled back into his chair again.
    “Very well, Mr. Rogan,” he said in a resigned voice. “What does Washington instruct me to work on now?”
     
    Even after thirty years of it, he was not yet accustomed to universities being operated on sound busi-nesslike principles, with orders coming from the front office telling the boys in the lab what they should be thinking about today.
    Or even more than thirty years. It was impossible to draw a hard line on just when it had happened.
    Perhaps it was the outgrowth of the practice when he had been a research student and young instructor.
    The local industry would come to the university with a problem. The university was eager to show its cooperation, its practical place in the industrial life of the nation. They got into the habit of delaying their own lines of research and working on those immediate ones required by industry. The habit grew into a custom. A few universities saw the danger and rebelled. Overnight, custom became a law. To rebel against a law, even a bad one, was subversion.
    But he must not let his mind wander into the past. That was the mark of senility, they said. And what was Rogan saying now? And why didn’t the man just leave the folder with him? Why did the man have to read it to him, word for word?
    The opening pages were filled with gobbledegook, replete with such phrases as “by order of,” and “un-der penalty of.” Why did these government agencies always feel they had to threaten citizens? He could not recall any government communication which did not carry a threat of what would happen to him if he failed to comply. Surely after seven thousand years of trying it, governments should have learned that threats and punishment were not the way to accomplish their aims.
    His eyes wandered around the room, and scowled at the gray November sky outside the window.
    The cold light made the dark paneled wood of his walls seem dingy and grimed. The shabby, old-fashioned furniture seemed even more shabby as the little man’s voice droned on and on through the