The young man arrived at precisely 4 T.S.T. (Trantorian Standard Time) and Seldon smiled. He loved punctual people. He placed his hands on his desk and made ready to heave to his feet, but the young man said, “Please, Professor, I know you have a bad leg. You needn’t stand up.”

Seldon said, “Thank you, young man. However, that does not mean that you cannot sit down. Please do.”

The young man removed his jacket and sat down.

Seldon said, “You must forgive me … when we met and set up this appointment, I neglected to learn your name—which is …?

“Stettin Palver,” said the young man.

“Ah. Palver! Palver! The name sounds familiar.”

“It should, Professor. My grandfather boasted frequently of having known you.”

“Your grandfather. Of course. Joramis Palver. He was two years younger than I was, as I recall. I tried to get him to join me in psychohistory, but he refused. He said there was no chance of his ever learning enough mathematics to make it possible. Too bad! How is Joramis, by the way?”

Palver said solemnly, “I’m afraid that Joramis has gone the way of old men generally. He’s dead.”

Seldon winced. Two years younger than he himself was—and dead. An old friend and they had lost touch to such a degree that, when death came, it did so unknowingly.

Seldon sat there for a while and finally muttered, “I’m sorry.”

The young man shrugged. “He had a good life.”

“And you, young man, where did you have your schooling?”

“Langano University.”

Seldon frowned. “Langano? Stop me if I’m wrong, but that’s not on Trantor, is it?”

“No. I wanted to try a different world. The Universities on Trantor, as you undoubtedly know very well, are all overcrowded. I wanted to find a place where I could study in peace.”

“And what did you study?”

“Nothing much. History. Not the sort of thing that would lead one to a good job.”

(Another wince, even worse than the first. Dors Venabili had been a historian.)

Seldon said, “But you’re back here on Trantor. Why is that?”

“Credits. Jobs.”

“As an historian?”

Palver laughed. “Not a chance. I run a device that pulls and hauls. Not exactly a professional occupation.”

Seldon looked at Palver with a twinge of envy. The contours of Palver’s arms and chest were highlighted by the thin fabric of his shirt. He was well muscled. Seldon had never himself been quite that muscular.

Seldon said, “I presume that when you were at the University, you were on the boxing team.”

“Who, me? Never. I’m a Twister.”

“A Twister!” Seldon’s spirits jumped. “Are you from Helicon?”

Palver said with a certain contempt, “You don’t have to come from Helicon to be a good Twister.”

No, thought Seldon, but that’s where the best ones come from.

However, he said nothing.

He did say, though, “Well, your grandfather would not join me. How about you?”

“Psychohistory?”

“I heard you talking to the others when I