"Cripes, Doc, they all sound like they were Russians," Sandra said after a bit. "Except this Willie Angler. Oh, he's the boy wonder, isn't he?"
Doc nodded. "Not such a boy any longer, though. He's.... Well, speak of the Devil's children.... Miss Grayling, I have the honor of presenting to you the only grandmaster ever to have been ex-chess-champion of the United States while still technically a minor—Master William Augustus Angler."
A tall, sharply-dressed young man with a hatchet face pressed the old man back into his chair.
"How are you, Savvy, old boy old boy?" he demanded. "Still chasing the girls, I see."
"Please, Willie, get off me."
"Can't take it, huh?" Angler straightened up somewhat. "Hey waiter! Where's that chocolate malt? I don't want it next year. About that ex-, though. I was swindled, Savvy. I was robbed."
"Willie!" Doc said with some asperity. "Miss Grayling is a journalist. She would like to have a statement from you as to how you will play against the Machine."
Angler grinned and shook his head sadly. "Poor old Machine," he said. "I don't know why they take so much trouble polishing up that pile of tin just so that I can give it a hit in the head. I got a hatful of moves it'll burn out all its tubes trying to answer. And if it gets too fresh, how about you and me giving its low-temperature section the hotfoot, Savvy? The money WBM's putting up is okay, though. That first prize will just fit the big hole in my bank account."
"I know you haven't the time now, Master Angler," Sandra said rapidly, "but if after the playing session you could grant me—"