"And they don't get a damn cent for it."
Doc hesitated, put down his half-filled tumbler. "I beg your pardon?"
"I say they're getting stiffed," Clocker stated. "Anybody who works that hard ought to get paid. I don't mean it's got to be money, although that's the only kind of pay Zelda'd work for. Right, Arnold?"
"Well, sure," said Arnold Wilson Wyle wonderingly. "I never thought of it like that. Zelda doing time-steps for nothing ten-fifteen hours a day—that ain't Zelda."
"If you ask me, she likes her job," Clocker said. "Same with the other catatonics I seen. But for no pay?"
Doc surprisingly pushed his drink away, something that only a serious medical puzzle could ever accomplish. "I don't understand what you're getting at."
"I don't know these other cata-characters, but I do know Zelda," said Arnold Wilson Wyle. "She's got to get something out of all that work. Clocker says it's the same with the others and I take his word. What are they knocking theirself out for if it's for free?"
"They gain some obscure form of emotional release or repetitive gratification," Doc explained.
"Zelda?" exploded Clocker. "You offer her a deal like that for a club date and she'd get ruptured laughing."