"Thank you, Nestor," Lowndes replied. He walked toward the study windows, glanced out into the sunlighted patio, then turned back to face the robot. "Nestor," he said, "a problem has come up. Do you think it could be possible to increase the allowance. You see, I am planning marriage." Nestor's magenta eye sockets flickered slightly after Lowndes had finished speaking. "Might I offer a suggestion, Master?" he asked. "Go ahead." "Master, it is rumored in the city that you have been frequenting the establishment of Sliman, the gambler." Lowndes glared at the robot. "Whadya talking about? What's Sliman got do with all this? I asked you if you couldn't work out a liberal increase. I want to get married!" "I have an answer for you, Master. But I thought it politic to mention that the odds at Sliman's are definitely against you." "Forget about Sliman!" snarled Lowndes. "How about the increase?" The robot's words thudded into Lowndes brain. "An increase is impossible. Master!" he said. He went on, his aud tones crackling, "Indeed, I may have already overstepped in gifting you the five hundred kredits. The testament and tort attorneys may never allow it, especially since it was in payment of a gambling debt! Good day!" Nestor reached for the black bowler he had placed on the desk and set it neatly in the center of his worn pate. He picked up the armload of books and journals, and headed for the door. He turned back for a moment to face Lowndes and add "And Master, if you will forgive my impertinence, I should like to say that I do not believe a marriage with Miss Judy would be prudent." In that moment Lowndes' face turned livid with anger. Seizing the heavy wheel wrench, he lunged for the blue-clad robot. He brought the wrench down squarely in the center of the black bowler. SSSSSSSSSSS ... SSSSSSTTTTT ... CRACKLE ... SSSSSSTTTT.... The heavy pronged ironite wrench crashed into Nestor's cranial tubes, drove through the blue-gray worn pate, sliced into the fragile old-style gretile metal, battered and shredded the robot's upper works into a twisted mass. Again and again, in maniacal fury Lowndes slammed the ironite prongs down. Nestor crashed to the floor in a final hiss and crackle.