A Matter of Ethics by Russ Winterbotham

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 rested in his complex mind.

Fader’s Fadeless Formulae had offered him a position, not a job, to take charge of its research department, at ten thousand a year, twice what he was paid at Faderfield Junior College to teach chemistry. All this was in the letter.

“But I like being a teacher,” said Homer. And he looked at the fly rod. “And I also like to fish.” Teaching chemistry had left him little time for fishing. The science had advanced with such gigantic strides that Homer was continually catching up on the subject. He spent his vacations 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 like it to C. J. Fader suggesting that it be placed on the market. All Homer had wanted was a fat check, and a royalty which he could invest so he could retire someday. Instead, C. J. Fader had offered him a job. The Old Man, who ran the principal industry of Faderfield, would expect a new formula a month and Homer was afraid he might not be able to turn one out every month. Homer knew enough about C. J. to realize that if he offered ten thousand, he would expect a ninety-thousand profit. Homer could qualify for the first figure, but he wasn’t so sure about the second.

And then the door bell rang.