Quinby had paper spread out before him. He looked up now, took a sip of milk, and said, "Do you cook?" "Not much. Concentrates do me most of the time." "I can sympathize with Grew. I like old-fashioned food myself and I'm fairly good at cooking it. I just thought you might have some ideas." "For what?" "Why, a usuform cook, of course. Grew's android cook broke down. We'll present him with a usuform, and that will convert him, too--" "Convert hell!" I snorted. "Nothing can convert that sweetly smiling old--But maybe you have got something there; get at a man through his hobby--Could work." "Now usually," Quinby went on, "androids break down because they don't use all their man-shaped body. But an android cook would go nuts because man's body isn't enough. I've cooked; I know. So we'll give the usuform more. For instance, give him Martoid tentacles instead of arms. Maybe instead of legs give him an automatic sliding height adjustment to avoid all the bending and stooping, with a roller base for quick movement. And make the tentacles functionally specialized." I didn't quite get that last, and I said so. "Half your time in cooking is wasted reaching around for what you need next. We can build in a lot of that stuff. For instance, one tentacle can be a registering thermometer. Tapering to a fine point--stick it in a roast and--One can end in a broad spoon for stirring--heat-resistant, of course. One might terminate in a sort of hand, of which each of the digits was a different-sized measuring spoon. And best of all--why the nuisance of bringing food to the mouth to taste? Install taste-buds in the end of one tentacle." I nodded. Quinby's pencil was covering the paper with tentative hookups. Suddenly he paused. "I'll bet I know why android cooks were never too successful. Nobody ever included the Verhaeren factor in their brains." The Verhaeren factor, if you've studied this stuff at all, is what makes robots capable of independent creative action. For instance it's used in the robots that turn out popular fiction--in very small proportion, of course. "Yes, that's the trouble. They never realized that a cook is an artist as well as a servant. Well, we'll give him in his brain what he needs for creation, and in his body the tools he needs to carry it out. And when Mr. Grew has had his first meal from a usuform cook--" It was an idea. I admitted, that might have worked on anybody but Sanford Grew--get at a man and convert him through what's dearest to his heart. But I'd worked for Grew. I knew him. And I knew that no hobby, not even his passion for unconcentrated food, could be stronger than his pride in his power as president of Robinc. So while Quinby worked on his usuform cook and our foreman Mike Warren got our dowser ready for the first big demonstration, I went ahead with the anti-Robinc campaign.