The boss slammed the file drawer shut in disgust.
The Martian, standing before his desk, shuffled his feet and rotated his cap with his third hand. "Displeasing you?" he said. "Come back other time do?"
"No!" Huber pointed to the chair. "You sit down. We're going to straighten this whole thing out right now."
He reached across the desk and snapped on the intercom. "Davis!" he said. "We're going to have a foremen's meeting. This minute!" Davis, at the other end, was inclined to argue, but the boss stopped him. "Don't tell me we're busy! I know our production schedule better than you do. Get the foremen up here right away!"
The foremen shuffled in ten minutes later. They looked sheepish, like small boys caught in the jam pot.
Huber got right to the point.
"Your boys have been picking on Chafnu again. And I won't stand for it!" He slapped the desk with a board-like palm for emphasis.
Curly, the foreman, said: "Aw, gee, boss. Just a little rhubarb, that's all. Just a little kiddin' around. Boys didn't mean any harm."
"Mean any harm?" Huber's eyes went so wide they threatened to pop out on the desk. "Chafnu! Show it to 'em."
The Martian looked embarrassed. Then he slowly lifted his rope-like foot and displayed the quarter-sized burn on the heel.