"Joe Linger," he said. "Are you beautiful?"
"Why—I suppose so," came the modest answer. "What—"
"Can I trust you?" Joe persisted.
"Well, really!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Linger, I'm afraid I don't know you—"
Joe groaned inwardly. Of course they were strangers! The robot couldn't help that!
"Just—just what is it you want?" the girl's voice stammered from the receiver.
"Nothing," Joe replied wearily. "Nothing, now. Maybe I'll call you back."
He hung up and sat staring into space.
Anything he wanted—anything! Money? What use was money when he didn't have to buy anything? Food? What about food? Meat and vegetables weren't inanimate objects, either.
He set the bright globe in his lap and placed his fingertips on its keyboard. Swiftly, he typed: SIRLOIN STEAK SMOTHERED IN ONIONS, GRAVY, MASHED POTATOES, ASPARAGUS, TOAST, COFFEE, APPLE PIE A LA MODE.