“Say ‘usual formula’ when we come to that. It’s no good wasting time. Has number one hundred and two got anything unpleasant the matter with him?”
“No, sir.”
“Ah, then—let me see—we’ll give him a couple of ulcers. Mercury, just look in at the Punishment Department, and order a couple of large ulcers to be sent to number one hundred and two, and look sharp back. Next, please.”
“Number one hundred and three. Living and prosperous. Regular in his righteousness. Further details at the Virtue Record Department.”
“We ought to give that man some other reward,” said Zeus, who sometimes suffered from a slight twinge of justice in damp weather.
“I’m not so sure of that,” said Co., who was very healthy, and never got a touch of justice in any weather. “I hate a man who does everything right. It’s so infernally hypocritical. Besides, it shows a commercial mind. He only does it in order to get something by it. I hate a commercial mind. I’ll guarantee he doesn’t do it out of affection for us.”
Zeus sniggered. “Well, well,” he said, “affection, you know, affection——” But here he was interrupted by the arrival of Mercury.
“Just look in at the Virtue Record,” said Co., “and bring the detailed list for number one hundred and three.”
Mercury was back again in a minute. “The Virtue Record office is shut, sir, nobody ever virtuous after lunch, sir—shuts at one, sir. The clerk’s gone home and taken the keys.”
“Well,” said Co., “it doesn’t matter. The man is obviously a hypocrite, and he’s got no business to try and make bargains with us. I don’t mind it so much myself, Zeus, but it is such an insult to your dignity.”