He reached his home and his wife kissed him on the cheek. "Hard day at the palace, dear?" she asked.
"Quite hard," Nob said. "Lots of work for after supper."
"It just isn't fair," complained his wife. She was a plump, pleasant little person and she worried continually about her husband's health. "They shouldn't make you work so hard."
"But of course they should!" said Nob, a little astonished. "Don't you remember what I told you? All the books say that during a war, a Prime Minister is a harried, harassed individual, weighed down by the enormous burden of state, unable to relax, tense with the numerous strains of high office."
"It isn't fair," his wife repeated.
"No one said it was. But it's extremely Earthlike."
His wife shrugged her shoulders. "Well, of course, if it's Earthlike, it must be right. Come eat supper, dear."
After eating, Nob attacked his mounds of paperwork. But soon he was yawning and his eyes burned. He turned to his wife, who was just finishing the dishes.
"My dear," he said, "do you suppose you could help me?"