He looked at her cryptically. "I've got to raise a fifty-grand quota."
Without even looking up from her breakfast Ursula said absently, "Oh, that. It is election year again, isn't it?"
"And I'll have to ask you to cancel all unnecessary expenditures for the time being."
She shook her head. "Can't—I've already reserved Love's Passion for this afternoon and a whole block of titles for three months."
Philon compressed his mouth, then practically blew the words at her. "Damn it, Ursula, you're spending too much time psycho-dreaming these cheap plays. You know the psychiatrist has warned you to lay off them. Stimulates your endocrine system too much. No wonder you live on sleeping pills."
"Oh, shut up!" She stared at him, the anger in her tugging at her loose mouth. "If I feel like a psychoplay I'm going to have me a psychoplay. It's the only stimulation I get any more."
Muttering, "T'hell with it!" Philon got up from the table and walked into the living room. Slipping into his gray top coat and hat he ascended to the copter roofport.
Before stepping into the copter seat he paused to study the MacDonald house on the corner. Odd-looking house at that. Mid-twentieth century, yet it looked brand new.
Then, putting the house out of mind, Philon shot his copter skyward and joined Skyway No. 7 traffic into town.
Descending on his office building he left the ship in care of the parking attendant and by elevator dropped to his floor. At a door marked Miller Electronic Manufacturing Co. he walked in.