"Certainly. Tanker Bell, as we understand it, has a fighting history of forty-seven years. Now, I'm afraid we'd be made a laughing-stock if Tanker Bell were set into motion against one of our products." "Especially if he won, is that it?" "Particularly then. But we rest secure in the fact that that outcome is highly improbable, not to state impossible." Charlie Jingle sipped his gin, looking from one face to the other. "So?" he asked, anticipating what was about to come. "Suppose, Mister Jingle, you were offered a price for Tanker Bell, price far in excess of his actual worth. A price big enough to even make it possible for you to perhaps buy a second-rate fighter in good second-class condition." Charlie Jingle closed his eyes and tapped his foot with horny, grease-monkey fingers. In a moment he opened them and slowly took in the three representatives of the champ, Iron-Man Pugg. "Lemme get this straight. You want me to sell Tanker for much more than he's worth because you'd be humiliated at having to put one of your products in the same ring with him?" "Exactly," said Kort Gassel. "But you're sure your boy'd whip him in the ring?" "Well obviously we all know the knockout victory he scored over the Contender was an accident." Charlie Jingle nodded. "_We_ all know it. But there's one guy in the world who don't. You know who? Tanker Bell himself." Kort Gassel laughed. "A robot, Mister Jingle? Surely you must be--" Charlie Jingle shook his head. "Can't do it, boys. I gotta consider the Tanker. You see, Mister Gassel, Tanker thinks he could take your boy. And not only does he wanna take him, but he won't take no for an answer!" "Listen, Jingle, is this some kind of joke? What are you holding out for? A price? When I said I'd make it worth your--" Charlie Jingle shook his head, stubbornly and firmly. "No price, Gassel. Just an agreement-contract." "Listen, you fool, don't you realize what's at stake here? We're big business! We can't afford to play around with lucky independents like you!" "Can't take any chances, huh?" "Exactly that! Can't, and won't!" "Wanna bet?" "If you try to--" Charlie Jingle got up from his seat. "Gassel ... I've been in this racket so long I've got oil in my veins instead of blood, and a Reflex-Pattern Analysis for a brain. I know every angle there is to know. If I want a fight, I'll get one. So don't go try putting your big business pressure on me. I'm too old for college-boy antics." Kort Gassel stared at him for a long, hostile moment. Then his face broke into a smile. "My friend, do you know what you're bucking? These are the offices of Pugilists Incorporated you're in. Don't you realize what that means?" "Sure," said Charlie Jingle. "It means that if Tanker Bell whips Iron-Man Pugg, Charlie Jingle will one day have as big a factory and as many orders for Fighting-Machines as Pug, Inc...." Charlie Jingle crossed the desert of rug toward the exit-panel.