The fat man blinked again. "What's that?" he snapped. He had a high petulant voice. "You're not like the rest of them. I think I can talk to you. I think you're another outsider." The fat man looked down at his rumpled suit. "I ... ah ... was caught a little short today. Didn't have time to change. I'm a busy man. And what business is it of yours?" He clamped his jaw shut, eyed Brett warily. "I'm a stranger here," Brett said. "I want to find out what's going on in this place--" "Buy an amusement guide. Lists all the shows--" "I don't mean that. I mean these dummies all over the place, and the Gels--" "What dummies? Jells? Jello? You don't like Jello?" "I love Jello. I don't--" "Just ask the waiter. He'll bring you your Jello. Any flavor you like. Now if you'll excuse me ..." "I'm talking about the brown things; they look like muddy water. They come around if you interfere with a scene." The fat man looked nervous. "Please. Go away." "If I make a disturbance, the Gels will come. Is that what you're afraid of?" "Now, now. Be calm. No need for you to get excited." "I won't make a scene," Brett said. "Just talk to me. How long have you been here?" "I dislike scenes. I dislike them intensely." "When did you come here?" "Just ten minutes ago. I just sat down. I haven't had my dinner yet. Please, young man. Go back to your table." The fat man watched Brett warily. Sweat glistened on his bald head. "I mean this town. How long have you been here? Where did you come from?" "Why, I was born here. Where did I come from? What sort of question is that? Just consider that the stork brought me." "You were born here?" "Certainly." "What's the name of the town?" * * * "Are you trying to make a fool of me?" The fat man was getting angry. His voice was rising. "Shhh," Brett cautioned. "You'll attract the Gels." "Blast the Jilts, whatever that is!" the fat man snapped. "Now, get along with you. I'll call the manager." "Don't you know?" Brett said, staring at the fat man. "They're all dummies; golems, they're called. They're not real." "Who're not real?" "All these imitation people at the tables and on the dance floor. Surely you realize--" "I realize you're in need of medical attention." The fat man pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "You keep the table," he said. "I'll dine elsewhere." "Wait!" Brett got up, seized the fat man's arm. "Take your hands off me--" The fat man went toward the door. Brett followed. At the cashier's desk Brett turned suddenly, saw a fluid brown shape flicker-- "Look!" He pulled at the fat man's arm-- "Look at what?" The Gel was gone. "It was there: a Gel." The fat man flung down a bill, hurried away. Brett fumbled out a ten, waited for change. "Wait!" he called. He heard the fat man's feet receding down the stairs.