Homer was a shy Faderfield bachelor; his
visitor was a beautiful Pleiades girl. At any
rate she was a girl, and Homer had a problem—
A MATTER OF ETHICS
By Russ Winterbotham
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
April 1955
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The fly rod, the letter and the small jar of paint were, in a sense,half of the problem Homer Hopkins had to solve. The other half restedin his complex mind.
Fader's Fadeless Formulae had offered him a position, not a job, totake charge of its research department, at ten thousand a year, twicewhat he was paid at Faderfield Junior College to teach chemistry. Allthis was in the letter.
"But I like being a teacher," said Homer. And he looked at the flyrod. "And I also like to fish." Teaching chemistry had left him littletime for fishing. The science had advanced with such gigantic stridesthat Homer was continually catching up on the subject. He spent hisvacations going to colleges, and his off days reading literature,orienting himself.
The little jar of paint had brought it about. Homer had sent a jar likeit to C. J. Fader suggesting that it be placed on the market. All Homerhad wanted was a fat check, and a royalty which he could invest so hecould retire someday. Instead, C. J. Fader had offered him a job. TheOld Man, who ran the principal industry of Faderfield, would expect anew formula a month and Homer was afraid he might not be able to turnone out every month. Homer knew enough about C. J. to realize that ifhe offered ten thousand, he would expect a ninety-thousand profit.Homer could qualify for the first figure, but he wasn't so sure aboutthe second.
And then the door bell rang.
Homer glanced out the window at the row of lighted houses acrossthe street. He lived by himself in a little four-room cottage nearthe junior college. Twice a week the cleaning woman got rid of themale litter and on Saturdays a student did the outside work to keepthe little rented home in trim with the rest of the neat littleneighborhood. Homer managed by himself the rest of the time.
Whoever was at the door was not in line with the window. Callers werenot infrequent. There were three other bachelor males in the chemistrydepartment who dropped in occasionally. And some of the neighbors cameover from time to time, usually to borrow a book. Students sometimescame to see him, especially when their grades were low.
Homer opened the door. It was not a bachelor friend. It was not aneighbor. It was not a student. It was a very pretty young woman. Shewas dressed like she was going to a masquerade, with spangled tights,or something of that nature, a glittering tiara and shoes covered withrhinestones.
Her hair was black and her eyes were brown. There was a faint flush onher cheeks that looked well with the ivory shade of her smooth skin.
Without being invited, she stepped past Homer and into the house. Shelooked around, from floor to the ceiling. She strode across the roomand sank down on Homer's overstuffed divan.
"I like this place," she said. "Do you want to move, or will you shareit with me?"
"Uh?" Homer laughed nervously. "I beg pardon?"
"What for? You didn't do anything."
"I meant I misunderstood you," Homer said. "I thought you suggestedtaking my house away from me."
"I didn't," said the young woman. "If you want to stay, it's all rightwith me. I'll only be he