"I realize, Mr. Grew, that this isn't fair to you. But there are much more important matters than you involved."
"Thank you." The gentle old voice was frigid.
"But I wouldn't feel right if you were simply, as you put it, cast aside and rejected. If you'll come to see us and talk things over, I'm pretty sure we can—"
"Sir!" Sanford Grew rose to his full short height. "I do not ask favors from puppies. I have only one request." He turned to the Head. "The repeal of this ridiculous bill depriving Robinc of its agelong monopoly which has ensured the safety of the Empire."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grew. That is impossible."
The hair was still silvery and the smile was still sad and gentle. But the words he addressed to us were, "Then you understand that this is war?"
Then he left. I didn't feel too comfortable. Saving the Empire is all very well. Being a big shot in a great new enterprise is swell. But a war with something the size of Robinc is not what the doctor usually orders.
"The poor man," said Quinby.
The Head flashed an echo of the famous grin. "No wonder he's upset. It's not only the threatened loss of power, I heard that yesterday his android cook broke down completely. And you know how devoted he is to unconcentrated food."
Quinby brightened. "Then perhaps we—"