"Oh, it's true, all right. The Martian labor force now outnumbers the humans by five to one. Some companies have completely converted to Martians--like the Oxco Corporation, for instance. In fact, it probably won't be very long before we'll have an all-Martian labor force across the country." The reporter said: "Can I quote you?" "If you like." The Labor man shrugged. "Seems like employers just can't find men interested in their jobs. But the Martians go merrily along, using their three hands at maximum efficiency. And it's not just in manual labor that they're gaining tremendous amounts of ground." "How do you mean?" Woolsey paused by the flowing fountain, watching the cool gusher leap from the mouth of a stone fish. "Well," he said vaguely, "they're taking over other kinds of work. White collar stuff. Teaching. Architecture. In fact, I hear that the Brooklyn Dodgers are considering a Martian for third base--" "No!" Woolsey said: "Water looks nice, doesn't it? I wonder if they would mind if I took my shoes off and--" "Mr. Woolsey!" "Oh, just for a minute, you know. Can't see any harm in it. Matter of fact, should be quite refreshing." "Yes, but, sir--" "Oh, come now," said Woolsey, starting to unlace his shoes. "If you'd rather work, go ahead. I want to relax." He took his shoes off and began to work on the socks, humming the strains of _Melancholy_ to himself. The reporter scratched his head. "I _don't_ want to work," he confessed. "I haven't wanted to work for months. The whole idea of working just makes me sore." He hesitated a moment, and then reached down for his shoe-laces. * * * * * The Martian stood in front of the boss's desk, but this time, there was no nervousness in his manner. "Chafnu--" said Huber. "Yes, sir?" said the new foreman. "Chafnu, I have something to tell you. And I don't know how you're going to take it." "Please?" said Chafnu. Huber got up and went to the table. There was a leather suitcase perched on top. He took it off and placed it on his desk; then he opened it. He reached over and took Diana's photograph from the blotter and put it inside. "You've been doing a good job," the boss continued. "An excellent job, as a matter of fact." "Properly thanking," said Chafnu. "I don't want you to thank me. It's only logical, after all. Especially when we put nothing but Martians in your shop. We needed a Martian foreman then." He went to the bookcase, lifted out two of the books, and dropped them into the suitcase. "Now things have changed again, Chafnu. Changed drastically. And the Oxygen Corporation of America is going to need your help." "Desirable of service," said Chafnu. "Very willing of it." "I know you are. And that's why the Board of Directors have decided that you should take over the whole show." He clicked the suitcase shut with an air of finality. "Uncomprehend," said the Martian blankly.