“Dearest!” shrieked Bigelow’s wife. “You’ve never done it better!” There was a spatter of applause, and Morey realized for the first time that half the bar had stopped its noisy revel to listen to them. Bigelow was evidently quite a well-known figure here.
Morey said weakly, “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
He turned hesitantly to Howland, who promptly said, “Drink! What we all need right now is a drink.”
They had a drink on Bigelow’s book.
Morey got Howland aside and asked him, “Look, level with me. Are these people nuts?”
Howland showed pique. “No. Certainly not.”
“Does that poem mean anything? Does this whole business of twoness mean anything?”
Howland shrugged. “If it means something to them, it means something. They’re philosophers, Morey. They see deep into things. You don’t know what a privilege it is for me to be allowed to associate with them.”
They had another drink. On Howland’s book, of course.
Morey eased Walter Bigelow over to a quiet spot. He said, “Leaving twoness out of it for the moment, what’s this about the robots?”