"Fair enough. Hans? Will you dance at my wake?"

Von Bitter looked back and grinned. "I'd be delighted!"

"Thought so. Thanks, Hans. G'bye."

Smith said to Byram Teal, "Anything, son?"

"Assistant Attorney General coming from Washington tomorrow to talk to you about our Machine Tools Division buying control of Homecrafts, Ltd. I think—"

"To talk to you. If you can't handle him, I picked the wrong man. What else?"

"At Sea Ranch number five we lost a man at the fifty-fathom line. Shark."

"Married?"

"No, sir. Nor dependent parents."

"Well, do the pretty thing, whatever it is. You have those videospools of me, the ones that actor fellow dubbed the sincere voice onto. When we lose one of our own, we can't have the public thinking we don't give a hoot."

Jake Salomon added, "Especially when we don't." Smith clucked at him. "Jake, do you have a way to look into my heart? It's our policy to be lavish with death benefits, plus the little things that mean so much."

"—and look so good. Johann, you don't, have a heart—just dials and machinery. Furthermore you never did have."

Smith smiled. "Jake, for you we'll make an exception. When you die, we'll try not to notice. No flowers, not even the customary black-bordered page in our house organs."

"You won't have anything to say about it, Johann. I'll outlive you twenty years."

"Going to dance at my wake?"

"I don't dance," the lawyer answered, "but you tempt me to learn."

"Don't bother, I'll outlive you. Want to bet? Say a million to your favorite tax deduction? No, I can't bet; I need your help to stay alive. Byram, check with me tomorrow. Nurse, leave us; I want to talk with my lawyer."

"No, sir. Dr. Garcia wants a close watch on you at all times."

Smith looked thoughtful. "Miss Bedpan, I acquired my speech habits before the Supreme Court took up writing dirty words on sidewalks. But I will try to use words plain enough for you to understand. I am your employer. I pay your wages. This is my home. I told you to get out. That's an order."

The nurse looked stubborn, said nothing.

Smith sighed. "Jake, I'm getting old—I forget that they follow their own rules. Will you locate Dr. Gar­cia—somewhere in the house—and find out how you and I can have a private conference in spite of this too faithful watchdog?"

Shortly Dr. Garcia arrived, looked over dials and patient, conceded that telemetering would do for the time being. "Miss MacIntosh, shift to the remote displays."

"Yes, Doctor. Will you send for a nurse to relieve me? I want to quit this assignment."

"Now, Nurse—"

"Just a moment, Doctor," Smith put in. "Miss MacIntosh, I apologize for calling you, ‘Miss Bedpan' Childish of me, another sign of increasing senility. But, Doctor, if she must leave—I hope she won't—bill me for a thousand-dollar bonus for her. Her attention to duty has been perfect...despite many instances of unreasonable behavior on my part."

"Oh...see me outside, Nurse."

When doctor and nurse had left Salomon said dryly, "Johann, you are senile only when it suits you."

Smith chuckled. "I do take advantage of age and illness. What other weapons have I left?"

"Money."

"Ah, yes. Without money I wouldn't be alive. But I am childishly bad-tempered these days. You could chalk it up to the fact that a man who has always been active feels frustrated by being imprisoned. But it's simpler to call it senility…since God and my doctor know that my body is senile."

"I call it stinking bad temper, Johann, not senility—since you can control it when you want to. Don't use it on me; I won't stand for it."

Smith chuckled. "Never, Jake; I need you. Even more than I need Eunice—though she's ever so much prettier than you. How about it, Eunice? Has my behavior been bad lately?"

His secretary shrugged—producing complex secondary motions pleasant to see. "You're pretty stinky at times, Boss. But I've learned to ignore it."

"You see, Jake? If Eunice refused to put up with it—as you do—I'd be the sweetest boss in the land. As it is, I use her as a safety valve."

Salomon said, "Eunice, any time you get fed up with this vile-tempered old wreck you can work for me, at the same salary or higher."

"Eunice, your salary just doubled!"

"Thank you, Boss," she said promptly. "I've recorded it. And the time." I'll notify Accounting."

Smith cackled. "See why I keep her? Don't try to outbid me, you old goat, you don't have enough chips."

"Senile," Salomon growled. "Speaking of money, whom do you want to put into Parkinson's slot?"

"No rush, he was a blank file. Do you have a candidate, Jake?"

"No. Although after this last little charade it occurs to me that Eunice might be a good bet."

Eunice looked startled, then dropped all expression. Smith looked thoughtful. "It had not occurred to me. But it might be a perfect solution. Eunice, would you be willing to be a director of the senior corporation?"

Eunice flipped her machine to "NOT RECORDING."

"You're both making fun of me! Stop it."

"My dear," Smith said gently, "you know I don't joke about money. As for Jake, it is the only subject sacred to him—he sold his daughter and his grandmother down to Rio."

"Not my daughter," Salomon objected. "Just Grand­mother...and the old girl didn't fetch much. But it gave us a spare bedroom."

"But, Boss, I don't know anything about running a business!"

"You wouldn't have to. Directors don't manage, they set policy. But you do know more about running it than most ofour directors; you've been on the inside for years. Plus almost inside during the time you were my secretary's secretary before Mrs. Bierman retired. But here are advantages I see in what may have been a playful suggestion on Jake's part. You are already an officer of the corporation as Special Assistant Secretary assigned to record for the board—and I made you that, you'll both remember, to shut up Parkinson when he bellyached about my secretary being present during an executive session. You'll go on being that—and my personal secretary, too; can't spare you—while becoming a director. No conflict, you'll simply vote as well as recording. Now we come to the key question: Are you willing to vote the way Jake votes?"

She looked solemn. "You wish me' to, sir?"

"Or the way I do if I'm present, which comes to the same thing. Think back and you'll see that Jake and I have always voted the same way on basic policy—settling it ahead of time—while wrangling and voting against each other on things that don't matter. Read the old minutes, you'll spot it."

"I noticed it long ago," she said simply, "but didn't think it was my place to comment."

"Jake, she's our new director. One more point, my dear: If it turns out that we need your spot, will you resign? You won't lose by it."

"Of course, sir. I don't have to be paid to agree to that."

"You still won't lose by it. I feel better. Eunice, I've had to turn management over to Teal; I'll be turning policy over to Jake—you know the shape I'm in. I want lake to have as many sure votes backing him as possible. Oh we can always fire directors... but it is best not to have to do so, a fact von Bitter rubbed my nose in. Okay, you're a director. We'll formalize it at that stockholders' meeting. Welcome to the ranks of the Establishment. Instead of a wage slave, you have sold out and are now a counterrevolutionary, warmongering, rat-fink, fascist dog. How does it feel?"

"Not ‘dog," Eunice objected. "The rest is lovely but ‘dog' is the wrong sex; I'm female. A bitch."

"Eunice, I not only do not use such words with ladies around, you know that I do not care to hear them from ladies."

"Can a ‘rat-fink fascist' be a lady? Boss, I learned that word in kindergarten. Nobody minds it today."