When The Grandfather was in the act of replacing the beard, Comstock could see just under his chin, a series of rivets that held his head in place. One looked loose and Comstock pointed it out. The Grandfather tightened the rivet and then sighed. "Yes, there can be no doubt I am beginning to wear out. That is why I have forced this series of actions into being. That is why I forced Bowdler to leave the Board to search for you rebels. I knew that my day was coming to an end. "I cannot say that I will be sorry to be able to go to rust peacefully." The idea of The Grandfather rusting, so bizarre as to have been unimaginable a few days earlier did not even cause Comstock to flinch. Forcing himself to listen to what The Grandfather was saying instead of wondering wildly about the future, he heard, "You see it was my primary function to keep the culture frozen till someone, anyone, with intelligence and guts, came along and saw past the façade that had been erected. "I must confess," The Grandfather said wryly, "that when I first heard about you, I did not think _you_ would be the one to tear down that façade." Since Comstock was as amazed as the robot, he did not find the words insulting. As a matter of fact he was too worried about the next step that had to be taken to think much about what the old machine was saying. "Shall we join my friends?" Comstock asked and it was only then that he realized how long he had been sitting thinking, for he had not even heard The Grandfather ask for his help. The machine was frozen in the same position it had assumed when it sat down at the desk. The Grandfather said almost plaintively. "I thought that perhaps you had become deaf." "Huh?" "One of my circuits is jammed. You'll have to help me. This has been happening more and more frequently lately, that's why I was so anxious for assistance." "What can I do?" "See if you can rotate the fourth dial on the left, on my chest." But the dial moved with no result. There was no impulse being sent to motivate the big machine. * * * * * Lunatic thoughts raced through Comstock's now addled brain. He wondered what vice The Grandfather would have to adopt in order to be cured. "Don't get panicky," The Grandfather said. "It's only my body mechanism that has been affected. In my top desk drawer there is a pair of pliers. Get them." Obeying, Comstock saw, in the desk drawer next to some tools, a metal memorandum pad. Scrawled on it he read the idea that had held back his world for five centuries. It said, "All or most diseases can be cured, if the very moral people of a very moral civilization are forced to perform actions which they consider immoral." After this statement there were two more words. These, The Grandfather had evidently never considered objectively. The two words were, True? False?