"I understand that they're passing a special law to let—people—like me vote at the next election."
"I'm for it, Ronar, I'm for it. You can count on me."
The chairman came up on the platform, a stout and dignified woman who smiled at both Ronar and the Senator, and shook hands with both without showing signs of distaste for either. The assembled competitors and spectators took seats.
The chairman cleared her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us open this meeting by singing the Hymn of All Planets."
They all rose, Ronar with them. His voice wasn't too well adapted to singing, but neither, it seemed, were most of the human voices. And, at least, he knew all the words.
The chairman proceeded to greet the gathering formally, in the name of the Presiding Committee.
Then she introduced Senator Whitten. She referred archly to the fact that the Senator had long since reached the age of indiscretion and had so far escaped marriage. He was an enemy of the female sex, but they'd let him speak to them anyway.
Senator Whitten just as archly took up the challenge. He had escaped more by good luck—if you could call it good—than by good management. But he was sure that if he had ever had the fortune to encounter some of the beautiful ladies here this fine day, and to taste the products of their splendid cooking and baking, he would have been a lost man. He would long since have committed polygamy.
Senator Whitten then launched into a paean of praise for the ancient art of preparing food.