Perry looked up past the knees and the belted paunch to the face. It was Master Marlboro.
Perry rose wearily to his feet and dropped the tins of food to the floor.
"All right," he said, "I give up."
"Really, Mr. Mansfield," Marlboro's lips curled with delicate disgust. "Isn't this a childish way to treat a beautiful machine?"
"What will you do with me?"
The MS didn't answer. He pulled a contract pad out of his pocket and started writing.
"You mean you're going to sell me another one?"
Marlboro shoved the pad in his hand.
"I'm quite sure you'll sign this one," he said firmly.
Perry read the sales contract: