"I can build you a fine model, sir," he said, trying to work up some enthusiasm. "I'll build in a response mechanism so that it can give simple answers to certain keyed questions and, of course, I'll fix it so it'll walk, either on two legs or four...." "No," said Andrew Young. The technician looked surprised and hurt. "No?" "No," repeated Andrew Young. "I don't want it fancied up. I want it a simple lump of make-believe. No wonder the children of today have no imagination. Modern toys entertain them with a bag of tricks that leave the young'uns no room for imagination. They couldn't possibly think up, on their own, all the screwy things these new toys do. Built-in responses and implied consciousness and all such mechanical trivia...." "You just want a stuffed fabric," said the technician, sadly, "with jointed arms and legs." "Precisely," agreed Young. "You're sure you want fabric, sir? I could do a neater job in plastics." "Fabric," Young insisted firmly, "and it must be scratchy." "Scratchy, sir?" "Sure. You know. Bristly. So it scratches when you rub your face against it." "But no one in his right mind would want to rub his face...." "I would," said Andrew Young. "I fully intend to do so." "As you wish, sir," the technician answered, beaten now. "When you get it done," said Young, "I have some other things in mind." "Other things?" The technician looked wildly about, as if seeking some escape. "A high chair," said Young. "And a crib. And a woolly dog. And buttons." "Buttons?" asked the technician. "What are buttons?" "I'll explain it all to you," Young told him airily. "It all is very simple." * * * * * It seemed, when Andrew Young came into the room, that Riggs and Stanford had been expecting him, had known that he was coming and had been waiting for him. He wasted no time on preliminaries or formalities. They know, he told himself. They know, or they have guessed. They would be watching me. Ever since I brought in my petition, they have been watching me, wondering what I would be thinking, trying to puzzle out what I might do next. They know every move I've made, they know about the toys and the furniture and all the other things. And I don't need to tell them what I plan to do. "I need some help," he said, and they nodded soberly, as if they had guessed he needed help. "I want to build a house," he explained. "A big house. Much larger than the usual house." Riggs said, "We'll draw the plans for you. Do anything else that you--" "A house," Young went on, "about four or five times as big as the ordinary house. Four or five times normal scale, I mean. Doors twenty-five to thirty feet high and everything else in proportion." "Neighbors or privacy?" asked Stanford. "Privacy," said Young. "We'll take care of it," promised Riggs. "Leave the matter of the house to us."