There were other amazing sights, an android that fingered and breathed wind into a flute that played sweetly, a reclining Cleopatra that rose, bowed gravely at the waist and then lay down once more upon her feathered couch. Since each of the treasured machines was in perfect functioning order, Manny rapidly lost interest and merely followed Handworthy about, nodding politely, his mind distant upon a persistent circuit problem that was still unsolved. But he was jarred back to reality when, with the reverence that one would use to lay bare a sleeping nymph, Handworthy removed the sheet from the huge centerpiece of the room. It was a small segment of a Western street, complete with hitching post, before which stood an uncannily lifelike figure of a town marshal, complete with vest and badge, chaps and holstered gun. The painted face was scowling and from closer scrutiny it was apparent that the figure was capable of complex motion. "The others," said Amos Handworthy, "are marvelous antiques that I've collected, but this fellow was made to my own specifications in Switzerland. His clothing is quite authentic and he really works. Watch this!" He stepped forward and took a loosely draped gun belt off the hitching post to the right of the Marshal and buckled it about his waist. "The device is electrically operated," he continued. "The instant I draw, the Marshal draws too, and the trick is to hit him somewhere on his target photocells with a beam of light that flashes out of my gun, before he can get off his shot. I can adjust the speed of his draw within fairly wide limits and I've been moving him up to faster and faster speeds. But I've gotten pretty damn fast." * * * * * With a drawing motion that was almost a blur, he whipped out his gun and pulled the trigger. The Marshal was fast, but apparently not _as_ fast for suddenly a recorded voice bellowed in pain and gasped, "you got me, you dirty varmint." "A little touch of my own," said Amos Handworthy. "That's what happens when I hit him." He looked down at his gun, almost proudly, and Manny had the eerie feeling that it was only with restraint that he did not blow the imaginary smoke away from the gun barrel. "That's a highly imaginative device," said Manny. "He is," said Amos Handworthy. "But he's still not quite what I want him to be. I have an idea that you can make him the kind of opponent I need." "What do you want?" said Manny. All of his ennui was beginning to evaporate and the familiar exultant response to challenge had begun to grow in him. "I want him to be able to hit me, too, figuratively speaking," said Amos Handworthy. "As things stand now, this shoot out is entirely one sided. I'd like to know, for instance, if he's been able to hit me." "I can do it," said Manny. "You'll have to get me off my regular project, but I can do it."