Hallemeier. Aha! I suppose they’re to vote. To drink beer. To order us about?
Helena. Why shouldn’t they drink beer?
Hallemeier. Perhaps they’re even to receive wages? (Looking at other Men, amused.)
Helena. Of course they are.
Hallemeier. Fancy that! Now! And what would they do with their wages, pray?
Helena. They would buy—what they want—what pleases them.
Hallemeier. That would be very nice, Miss Glory, only there’s nothing that does please the Robots. Good heavens, what are they to buy? You can feed them on pineapples, straw, whatever you like. It’s all the same to them. They’ve no appetite at all. They’ve no interest in anything. Why, hang it all, nobody’s ever yet seen a Robot smile.
Helena. Why—why don’t you make them—happier?
Hallemeier. That wouldn’t do, Miss Glory. They are only workmen.