Miss Cavallo shrugged sympathetically to Helena. “They’re all like that under the skin, aren’t they?” she observed ambiguously. “Well, if men could take our jobs away from us, what would we do? Stay home and mind the kids?” She roared and poked a box of cigars at Helena. “Now,” she said briskly, “let’s get down to cases. I really enjoyed hearing those lines from you, young man, and I want you to know that I’m prepared to help you in any possible way because of them. Open a line of credit, speed up deliveries, send along some of our technical people to help you get set up—anything. Now, what can I do for you? Turret lathes? Grinders? Screw machines?” “Miss Cavallo,” Ross said desperately, “don’t you know anything about the faster-than-light secret?” She said impatiently, “Of course I do, young man. Said the responses, didn’t I? There’s no call for that item, though.” “I don’t want to _buy_ one,” Ross cried. “I have one. Don’t you realize that the human race is in danger? Populations are dying out or going out of communication all over the galaxy. Don’t you want to do something about it before we all go under?” Miss Cavallo dropped all traces of a smile. Her face was like flint as she stood up and pointed to the window. “Young man,” she said icily, “take a look out there. That’s the Cavallo Machine-Tool Company. Does that look as if we’re going under?” “I know, but Clyde, Cyrnus One, Ragansworld—at least a dozen planets I can name—are _gone_. Didn’t you ever think that you might be next?” Miss Cavallo kept her voice level, but only with a visible effort. She said flatly, “No. Never. Young man, I have plenty to do right here on Azor without bothering my head about those places you’re talking about. Seventy-five years ago there was another fellow just like you; Flarney, some name like that; my grandmother told me about him. He came bustling in here causing trouble, with that old silly jingle about Wesley and C-square and so on, with some cock-and-bull story about a planet that was starving to death, stirring up a lot of commotion. Well, he wound up on ‘Minerva,’ because he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Watch out that you don’t do the same.” She marched majestically to the door. “And now,” she said, “if you’ve wasted quite enough of my time, kindly leave.” ..... 8 “STUPID old bat,” Ross muttered. They were walking aimlessly down Fifteen Street, the nicely-landscaped machine tool works behind them. Helena said timidly: “You really shouldn’t talk that way, Ross. She _is_ older than you, after all. Old heads are——” “——wisest,” he wearily agreed. “Also the most conservative. Also the most rigidly inflexible; also the most firmly closed to the reception of new ideas. With one exception.” She reeled under the triple blasphemy and then faintly asked: “What’s the exception?”