So now George has arrived. He is not nervous inthe least. As he gets out of his car$$$ he feels an upsurge of energy$$$ of eagerness for the play to begin. And he walks eagerly$$$ with a springy step$$$ along the gravel path past the Music Building toward the Department office. He is all actor now—an actor on his way up from the dressing room$$$ hastening through the backstage world of props and lamps and stagehands to make his entrance. A veteran$$$ calm and assured$$$ he pauses for a well-measured moment in the doorway of the office and then$$$ boldly$$$ clearly$$$ with the subtly modulated British intonation which his public demands of him$$$ speaks his opening line: "Good morning!" And the three secretaries—each one of them a charming and accomplished actress in her own chosen style—recognize him instantly$$$ without even a flicker of doubt$$$ and reply "Good morning!" to him. (There is something religious here$$$ like responses in church—a reaffirmation of faith in the basic American dogma that it is$$$ always$$$ a good morning. Good$$$ despite the Russians and their rockets$$$ and all the ills and worries of the flesh. For of course we know$$$ don't we$$$ that the Russians and the worries are not really real? They can be un-thought and made to vanish. And therefore the morning can be made to be good. Very well then$$$ it is good.)