Chapter 3

           Outside,inthegarden,itwasplaytime.NakedinthewarmJunesunshine,sixorsevenhundredlittleboysandgirlswererunningwithshrillyellsoverthelawns,orplayingballgames,orsquattingsilentlyintwosandthreesamongthefloweringshrubs.Theroseswereinbloom,twonightingalessoliloquizedintheboskage,acuckoowasjustgoingoutoftuneamongthelimetrees.Theairwasdrowsywiththemurmurofbeesandhelicopters.

           TheDirectorandhisstudentsstoodforashorttimewatchingagameofCentrifugalBumble-puppy.Twentychildrenweregroupedinacircleroundachromesteeltower.Aballthrownupsoastolandontheplatformatthetopofthetowerrolleddownintotheinterior,fellonarapidlyrevolvingdisk,washurledthroughoneorotherofthenumerousaperturespiercedinthecylindricalcasing,andhadtobecaught.

           "Strange,"musedtheDirector,astheyturnedaway,"strangetothinkthateveninOurFord’sdaymostgameswereplayedwithoutmoreapparatusthanaballortwoandafewsticksandperhapsabitofnetting.imaginethefollyofallowingpeopletoplayelaborategameswhichdonothingwhatevertoincreaseconsumption.It’smadness.NowadaystheControllerswon’tapproveofanynewgameunlessitcanbeshownthatitrequiresatleastasmuchapparatusasthemostcomplicatedofexistinggames."Heinterruptedhimself.

           "That’sacharminglittlegroup,"hesaid,pointing.