Williams 4 gave him a handful of mail, birthday greetings from Janie, and from his aunts, uncles and cousins on Earth. "Something else here," Williams 4 said, rummaging in his bag. "I _think_ there was something else here. Let me see.... Yes, here it is." He handed Morrison a small package. * * * * * Hastily, Morrison tore off the wrappings. It was a birthday present from his Aunt Mina in New Jersey. He opened it. It was a large box of salt-water taffy, direct from Atlantic City. "Quite a delicacy, I'm told," said Williams 4, who had been peering over his shoulder. "But not very satisfactory under the circumstances. Well, young man, I hate to see anyone die on his birthday. The best I can wish you is a speedy and painless departure." The robot began walking toward the vortex. "Wait!" Morrison cried. "You can't just leave me like this! I haven't had any water in days! And those wolves--" "I know," Williams 4 said. "Do you think I feel _happy_ about it? Even a robot has some feelings!" "Then help me." "I can't. The rules of the Postal Department expressly and categorically forbid it. I remember Abner Lathe making much the same request of me in '97. It took three years for a burial party to reach him." "You have an emergency telephone, haven't you?" Morrison asked. "Yes. But I can use it only for personal emergencies." "Can you at least carry a letter for me? A special delivery letter?" "Of course I can," the robot postman said. "That's what I'm here for. I can even lend you pencil and paper." Morrison accepted the pencil and paper and tried to think. If he wrote to Max now, special delivery, Max would have the letter in a matter of hours. But how long would Max need to raise some money and send him water and ammunition? A day, two days? Morrison would have to figure out some way of holding out.... "I assume you have a stamp," the robot said. "I don't," Morrison replied. "But I'll buy one from you. Solidoport special." "Excellent," said the robot. "We have just put out a new series of Venusborg triangulars. I consider them quite an esthetic accomplishment. They cost three dollars apiece." "That's fine. Very reasonable. Let me have one." "There is the question of payment." "Here," Morrison said, handing the robot a piece of goldenstone worth about five thousand dollars in the rough. The postman examined the stone, then handed it back. "I'm sorry, I can accept only cash." "But this is worth more than a thousand postage stamps!" Morrison said. "This is goldenstone!" "It may well be," Williams 4 said. "But I have never had any assaying knowledge taped into me. Nor is the Venus Postal Service run on a barter system. I'll have to ask for three dollars in bills or coins." "I don't have it." "I am very sorry." Williams 4 turned to go. "You can't just go and let me die!"