"Do not use the front door!" said the robot.
"Let go!" ordered Robert, incensed that any robot should presume to hinder him.
"Only Marcia-Joan uses this door," said the robot, ignoring Robert's displeasure.
"I'll use it if I like!" declared Robert, jerking the handle.
The next moment, he was lifted bodily into the air. By the time he realized what was happening, he was carried, face down, along the hall. Too astonished even to yell, he caught a glimpse of Marcia-Joan's tiny feet beneath the hem of her pink robe as his head passed the curtained doorway.
The robot clumped on to the door at the rear of the house and out into the sunshine. There, it released its grip.
When Robert regained the breath knocked out of him by the drop, and assured himself that no bones were broken, his anger returned.
"I'll find it, wherever it is!" he growled, and set out to search the grounds.
About twenty minutes later, he was forced to admit that there really was no swimming pool. Except for a brook fifty yards away, there was only the tiled bathroom of the cottage to bathe in.
"Primitive!" exclaimed Robert, eying this. "Manually operated water supply, too! I must have the robots fix something better for tomorrow."