"A few hours?" Fred said, distressed. By working double shift in the automation-parts supply house, he could just keep going, financially and physically. The question of mental fatigue was exclusively Elsie's province and there he had a rough working technique for responding without really listening. His job called for no mental effort greater than reading a shipping list, and his home life certainly didn't. Most of the time he had nothing in his mind at all; the days passed faster that way. But Elsie and the job kept him tired. Odd how just not listening wrung you out and drained you off. "We are, of course, very glad to offer you compensation for your time, Mr. Williams," said the man. Elsie would just drink it away. He'd have to haul crates of bourbon instead of cans of beer, that's all. "Not interested," he said. That was it. That was the way to keep a salesman stalled. Just "not interested." Keep saying it and nothing else. They all said they were not salesmen and weren't selling anything. Every salesman he had ever met at the door said that. _Galactic Encyclopedia_, Nuclear Brush, Your Venus Vacation, video subscriptions, even the Federal numbers game, they all started out by offering you a special opportunity and were not selling you anything. The man was still talking. "Not interested," Fred said. "Fred," said the man as they reached the bottom of the stairs, "I'm doing you a favor. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but either you come voluntarily or you'll come anyway. Why not get paid for it?" "Not interested. And if anyone wants me, they can come and get me. I don't care. I just don't care." He slouched off into the rain toward the supermarket. As Dr. Howard Sprinnell watched him go he took a small silver case from his top-coat pocket. He raised the case to his lips and said quietly: "Sprinnell here. No. A clear case, but no. Pick him up." * * * * * The squad car arrived silently on its jets as Fred Williams reached the door of the apartment house. He was carrying a pack of beer in each hand and was glad to see the man had gone. That's all you had to do--just keep saying "not interested" until they went away. "O.K., bud." The troopers took him on both sides, grasped his arms, and levered him round. "Hey!" Fred protested. "The beer's for my wife. She's waiting for it. Please, fellers, I'll never hear the end of it if she doesn't get her beer." "Joe," said the trooper on Fred's right, jerking his head in the direction of the door behind them. A third trooper climbed out of the squad car, took the packs from Fred's hands and walked into the apartment house. He climbed the stairs swiftly, wrinkling his nose at the stale thickness of the air, knocked on the apartment door and waited for Elsie to open it. "Here's your beer," he said shortly. "Where's Fred?" "Your husband is being detained in connection with a robbery at his office."