* * * * * "You," Andy welcomed her. "Bah." He shut his eyes. Most of him was sprawled out on the floor. "Yes, me," Miss Featherpenny agreed, repressing an inclination to kick him. She sat down on one of the kegs, and opened her stenographer's book. "I came to take down the ad for the shoes," she announced. "What ad?" Andy moaned. "The newest, biggest, brightest ads can't get over an 0.62. How can I manage an 0.94? You're crazy." He opened his eyes. "But you do have nice legs." "Felix II is sort of quaint," Miss Featherpenny suggested. "Why not use an old ad?" "An idea," Andy enunciated, without hope. "It's sort of pretty too," Miss Featherpenny nudged. "We could use a color picture of it," Andy said, kicking thoughtfully at an overturned stool. "The Felicians are quaint looking, too." "Sure," Andy said. "Put a Felician in the foreground, cobbling." He tried to sit up. "I've seen ads like that in history books," Miss Featherpenny said, exuding admiration. "It's so old it's new," Andy said, lying down again. "Old English lettering over the top. A real cliche." He considered Miss Featherpenny's ankle. "Peaceful scenery, Felician shoes?" "Not quite," said Miss Featherpenny. "Quiet field, Felician shoes?" "Nope," said Miss Featherpenny. "You're an aggravating woman," Andy said sweetly, "but you do have nice legs." "What about Elysian fields?" Miss Featherpenny suggested. Andy tasted it. "Elysian fields, Felician shoes." He tried to sit up again. "You got all that down?" he demanded. "Yes," Miss Featherpenny lied. She had it in her head, but not on the steno pad. "Then get somebody to send it off so we can find out if it's good enough. And come back soon." He wobbled on his elbow. "You do have...." "I think I'd better attend to sending it personally." Miss Featherpenny opened the door. "You rest until you feel better." Blahrog had gone, but Hrom was waiting for her. She looked more like a Christmas fairy than usual. A mischievous one. "Did you manage?" she whispered. "Barely." Miss Featherpenny looked grim. "Drink this," Hrom ordered, holding out a mug of Throatduster. Miss Featherpenny was surprised. "I thought ladies didn't drink on Felix II." "There are," Hrom said, "exceptions." * * * * * The next twelve days of waiting for computer results were not as hopefully active as the first twelve. The Felicians finished setting up their manufacturing and storing systems, but they didn't start making shoes. The cattle drovers forbore to slaughter the beasts who provided the leather. The Everking and his Debators all developed severe cases of beard-itch, a Felician nervous disorder. Since it is even more unseemly to scratch on Felix II than it is on Earth, they retired temporarily from public life.