porterfield and civilization

by nick nelson

dusk was falling. professor porterfield woke from a reverie, after a long day of staring out his office window at his beloved poplar tree, and drumming his long fingers disconsolately on his desk. another day had apparently gone by, and he had made little progress on his magisterial history of the h________s. he got up, took up his hat and cane, left the office and began wending his way homeward down the shady lane bordering the campus. a single dim light was on in a window of his bungalow. his daughter and housekeeper, clarissa, was seated in the parlor in an abjectly dejected pose. clarissa sighed when she looked up and beheld the professor hanging his hat up.. did you have a pleasant day, father? pleasant enough. i had a nice lunch, though i did have to endure listening to that ridiculous puppy wetserly run on about his theories of life being a dream, and humans being programmed robots in such and such a galaxy. i have to confess, though, that i did not make any great progress in my magisterial history of the h________s. i too, did not have a very productive day, clarissa replied. i have sat here in the parlor woolgathering, and have not prepared your dinner. you will have to make yourself a sandwich if you are really hungry - although - although i suppose i could make it for you if you so desire. that is quite all right, my girl, i will be happy to make it myself - that way i will be sure to have enough mustard on it, ha ha. i am afraid my life is not much more than a gray miasma, clarissa continued, with no light or anything else on the horizon. i feel i am doomed to sit here in this gloomy parlor for all eternity. nonsense! the professor boomed. tomorrow will be another day, i will write a whole chapter of my magisterial history. and you will meet a fine strapping young fellow who will sweep you away and you will have twelve glorious children together, six lusty boys and six blooming girls. and we will save civilization together. starting tomorrow. that is not at all what i had in mind, clarissa muttered, but the professor did not seem to hear her, as he repaired to the kitchen to make his sandwich. * professor porterfield woke up. it was completely dark. someone was knocking on his bedroom door. who can that be? he wondered. he got up and went to the door but did not open it. yes? he asked. it is 78043 hours, b-7489, a voice replied. you have a 568-f exercise and proaction at b-9001. be on time, please.