He stepped out, full of exuberance. Cherry was awake, staring in dismay at the tray the valet had brought. “Good morning, dear,” she said faintly. “Ugh.”
Morey kissed her and patted her hand. “Well!” he said, looking at the tray with a big, hollow smile. “Food!”
“Isn’t that a lot for just the two of us?”
“Two of us?” repeated Morey masterfully. “Nonsense, my dear, I’m going to eat it all by myself!”
“Oh, Morey!” gasped Cherry, and the adoring look she gave him was enough to pay for a dozen such meals.
Which, he thought as he finished his morning exercises with the sparring-robot and sat down to his real breakfast, it just about had to be, day in and day out, for a long, long time.
Still, Morey had made up his mind. As he worked his way through the kippered herring, tea and crumpets, he ran over his plans with Henry. He swallowed a mouthful and said, “I want you to line up some appointments for me right away. Three hours a week in an exercise gym—pick one with lots of reducing equipment, Henry. I think I’m going to need it. And fittings for some new clothes—I’ve had these for weeks. And, let’s see, doctor, dentist—say, Henry, don’t I have a psychiatrist’s date coming up?”
“Indeed you do, sir!” it said warmly. “This morning, in fact. I’ve already instructed the chauffeur and notified your office.”
“Fine! Well, get started on the other things, Henry.”
“Yes, sir,” said Henry, and assumed the curious absent look of a robot talking on its TBR circuits—the “Talk Between Robots” radio-as it arranged the appointments for its master.