"Please, young lady, this flippant attitude toward science—"
"What do I care about science? All I want is my routine. Now, can you hep me to what's putting the crimp in my act, so's I can iron out that there fourth-dimensional wiggle?"
"I'd have to study this peculiar phenomenon much more closely—"
"Nothin' doin'! You seen all you're going to!"
"But you don't understand," I pleaded.
"Lissen! I built myself up from a walk-on in the chorus. Worked hard, see? Figured out my own bumps and grinds and hip-rolls, just so's I could make myself the biggest tease name in the galaxy. And now, what goes? I got what you call a fourth-dimensional wiggle that gets me out through somebody's space warp into somebody's back yard who lived before I was born! This here thing's warpin' my personality. I'm fed up," she cried.
I was frantic. "But you've a debt to society—"
"Lissen. I pay my debt every time I walk out on that stage. Think of all the men I make forget they're married, or their office, or factory or farm troubles—or their income taxes! How would they feel, if I disappeared in the middle of my strip? They want to see more of me, not less!
"I thought maybe you could help me lick this thing—whatever you call it. But under that beard you're just like all them other guys. I'm fed up on double talk. Let's just forget the whole thing, Doc. Good-by, professor!"
And with that, she flounced out of my apartment.