Martin fizzled the glass full of soda and took a long drink.
"I won't be long getting drunk," he said, his voice thickening. "In fact, it's beginning to work already. See? I'm coöperating."
The robot hesitated.
"Well, hurry up about it," he said, and sat down.
Martin, about to take another drink, suddenly paused, staring at ENIAC. Then, with a sharply indrawn breath, he lowered the glass.
"What's the matter now?" the robot asked. "Drink your—what is it?"
"It's whiskey," Martin told the inexperienced automaton, "but now I see it all. You've put poison in it. So that's your plan, is it? Well, I won't touch another drop, and now you'll never get my eyeprint. I'm no fool."
"Cog Almighty," the robot said, rising. "You poured that drink yourself. How could I have poisoned it? Drink!"
"I won't," Martin said, with a coward's stubbornness, fighting back the growing suspicion that the drink might really be toxic.
"You swallow that drink," ENIAC commanded, his voice beginning to quiver slightly. "It's perfectly harmless."