The Martian stopped and swiveled his bulbous head around at the foreman. "Yes?" he said.
"Want a bite of this?" He held up the sandwich.
"No, your thanks," said Chafnu.
"Go on, have a taste. It's good for you."
"Do not think this," said Chafnu, trying to solve the old riddle of how to produce an engaging smile. He merely succeeded in looking like a surprised beetle.
"Whatsamatter, Chafnu? Too good to eat with your foreman?" Curly flushed. The hirings-and-firings of the last two months had unnerved him, and the fact that he was handling his own job poorly only made the situation worse.
"Have not required to food," said the Martian. "Best existence of silicone substances. Understanding do? However, your thanks, and very."
He began to move on, but Curly was obviously in the mood for trouble. He got up from the bench and put his beefy hand around one of Chafnu's arms.
