"If you'll excuse me," Perry murmured, "it's time for me to go to work." "Of course, of course," the Master laughed jovially. In rapid succession a comb dressed Perry's hair, his robe and pajamas were whisked off and his street clothes came floating out of the closet on more invisible fingers of energy. Before he knew it, he was ready for work. "I really must be going, too," Marlboro said, "if you'll just sign here." "How much is it?" The Master Salesman sighed. "You're really very difficult. It's $9,785, plus tax." "I can't afford it." "Now, Mr. Mansfield. A joke's a joke. If your credit rating wasn't the finest, I wouldn't be here. I know, and you know, your income is mortgaged for only 15 more years and your life expectancy is at least 50." Perry moved uneasily toward the bathroom. An invisible finger of energy opened the door for him. "If you don't mind," he said angrily, "this is something I'm quite capable of doing for myself." He slammed the door. But the Serve-All flushed the toilet for him. When he emerged, Marlboro's patience also was gone. "Sign," he said firmly. "I don't want it." "Young man," the Master said thinly. "You don't realize what dangerous ground you're on. If you do not cease this rudeness at once, I'll report you to the council." "Report and be damned! I don't need your gadget and I'm not going to buy it. Now get out!" Marlboro was blue with rage. He backed uncertainly toward the door and stopped. "This borders on sacrilege," he whispered. "You'll hear from me again. Soon." Perry slammed that door, too, and walked jauntily to work. * * * * * He heard from the Master Salesman again--exactly two hours later. The message tube delivered a summons ordering him into City Court. That afternoon. Perry went. He had never been in court before. He was frightened and regretful that he had been so abrupt with Marlboro. But he resented the invasion of his privacy and to bolster his courage, he built that anger into a fair rage by the time he reached the courtroom. Marlboro was there. A judge was there. And on each of two tables squatted a metal box with voice tubes. A bailiff guided him to his table and placed the voice tube in his hand. "You're late Mr. Mansfield," the judge snapped. "Justice must be swift and you're impeding it." He lifted a printed card and scanned it near-sightedly for a moment. "You're here charged with violating the public interest by failing to purchase an item which you are able to consume and which you can afford to buy." "There's no law against--" Perry began indignantly. "Don't tell me your troubles, young man," the judge interrupted. "That's what your lawyer's for." His gesture indicated the metal box. Perry held the voice tube dumbly. The bailiff leaned over his shoulder. "You tell your side of the story in there," he whispered.