“Never you mind,” Tanaquil replied staunchly. “Consuming isn’t everything in life. You have your work.”
Bigelow nodded judiciously and offered Morey another drink. Another drink, however, was not what Morey needed. He was sitting in a rosy glow, less of alcohol than of sheer contentment with the world.
He said suddenly, “Listen.”
Bigelow looked up from his own drink. “Eh?”
“If I tell you something that’s a secret, will you keep it that way?”
Bigelow rumbled, “Why, I guess so, Morey.”
But his wife cut in sharply, “Certainly we will, Morey. Of course! What is it?” There was a gleam in her eye, Morey noticed. It puzzled him, but he decided to ignore it.
He said, “About that write-up. I—I’m not such a hot-shot consumer, really, you know. In fact—” All of a sudden, everyone’s eyes seemed to be on him. For a tortured moment, Morey wondered if he was doing the right thing. A secret that two people know is compromised, and a secret known to three people is no secret. Still—
“It’s like this,” he said firmly. “You remember what we were talking about at Uncle Piggotty’s that night? Well, when I went home I went down to the robot quarters, and I—”
He went on from there.