The fiasco at the big No. I Plant atop Pikes Peak began like this."Hoskins," said the man known the world over as The Sorcerer,turning from the empty water cooler, "will you pick up the phoneplease and call the storeroom down at the ten-thousand-foot level andask them to send up a bottle of mineral water? This one is dry.""Yes, Sir," said Hoskins, obediently, and began flicking thenumber. He clicked impatiently several times, then announced, "Thephone's dead.""That's so," agreed The Sorcerer. "I forgot. They are having sometrouble in No. 31 Distribution Station. The phones may be out foranother hour. But I'm thirsty as hell. Won't you hop on the elevator,like a good boy, and drop down and bring up one yourself?""Y-yes, Sir," acknowledged Hoskins, reluctantly. He was the juniormost of the six young scientists honored with the appointment of beingunderstudies to the foremost scientist of all time. It griped him tobe asked to do what he regarded as menial things. It was not fittingto his august position. But he shoved away the mass of formulas he wasworking on and got grudgingly to his feet. With just a show ofsulkiness--enough to be unmistakable, yet discreet--he slouched towardthe door."Dumb egg, that," whispered Bob Hallet to Freddie Palmer, next tohim. "How in the name of Einstein did he ever get this far?""Sh-h-h," cautioned Palmer. "Didn't you know? He's Sol Hoskins'nephew--""You mean the General Director of Production at Washington? Oh!"And that is the end of that scene. Nearly an hour later TheSorcerer rose, stretched and yawned."Well, boys," be called, "let's call it half a day and drop downto the Quick-and-Dirty and snatch a bite of chow. Looks as if the kidfell down the shaft or something."