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Chapter I of XXX

            "Arthur Considine, will you get up or will I have to drag you out of that bed?"
            Art moaned and turned over in his bed. He half-seriously contemplated feigning a headache so he would not have to go to school. He sighed resignedly and tossed back the comfortable quilts that covered him. "All right, I'm coming," and he added mentally, "hold your horses."
            The metal floor under his feet was frigid as he ran across it to the chair over which he had draped his uniform the night before. He always delighted in that uniform that he had worked so hard to be able to wear. He was justifiably proud of his accomplishment. Most of the older boys that he chummed around with had to be twelve before they were permitted the honor of donning the plain suit of the Future Scientists of North America; and here he was, at the age of ten, already enlisted in that renowned organization. He whistled cheerfully as he buttoned the bronze buttons that closed his coat front. After carefully inspecting his appearance in the full-length mirror on his closet door, he skipped out of the room. As an afterthought, he turned back and walked to his dresser to turn over a new leaf on his calendar. He wrinkled his nose in distaste when he saw his lyre lesson scheduled for that afternoon. "Why did they have to revive that old thing," he thought, though subconsciously he was very pleased with the pleasant sounds that he was able to evoke from the string instrument. Methodically, he glanced at the date before he hurried out of the room to breakfast. Mrs. Shaw, his Universal History teacher, was always displeased with him when he wrote the wrong date on his assignments. April 27, 2007. Another day had begun.