Retief sighed. It had been a rare feast.
"Retief," Magnan said in the comparative quiet, "what were you saying about dog food as the music came up?"
Retief looked at him. "Haven't you noticed the pattern, Mr. Magnan? The series of deliberate affronts?"
"Deliberate affronts! Just a minute, Retief. They're uncouth, yes, crowding into doorways and that sort of thing...." He looked at Retief uncertainly.
"They herded us into a baggage warehouse at the terminal. Then they hauled us here in a garbage truck——"
"Garbage truck!"
"Only symbolic, of course. They ushered us in the tradesman's entrance, and assigned us cubicles in the servants' wing. Then we were seated with the coolie class sweepers at the bottom of the table."
"You must be.... I mean, we're the Terrestrial delegation! Surely these Yill must realize our power."
"Precisely, Mr. Magnan. But——"
With a clang of cymbals the musicians launched a renewed assault. Six tall, helmeted Yill sprang into the center of the floor and paired off in a wild performance, half dance, half combat. Magnan pulled at Retief's arm, his mouth moving.