Buchwald said dryly, "If our agents are correct, Texcocan steel production is something like a quarter of our own. I assume your other basic products are at about the same stage of development."
Watson flushed. "The thing to remember is that our economy continues to grow each year. Yours spurts and stops, jerks ahead a few steps, then grinds to a halt or even retreats. Everything comes to a pause if you few on the top stop making a profit; all that counts in your economy is making money. Which reminds me, how in the world did you ever get out of that planet-wide depression you were in three years ago?"
Peter MacDonald grunted his disgust. "Planet-wide depression, indeed. A small recession. A temporary readjustment due to overextension in certain economic and financial fields."
From the other side of the table, Dick Hawkins laughed at him. "Where'd you pick up that line of gobbledygook, Peter?" he asked.
Peter MacDonald came to his feet. "I don't have to put up with this sort of impudence," he snapped.
Watson lurched to his own feet. "Nor do we have to listen to your snide cracks about the real progress Texcoco is making. We don't seem to be getting anywhere." He snapped to his associates, "Hawkins, Taller, Roberts! Let's go. Ten years from now, there'll be another story to tell. Even a blind man will see the difference."
They marched down the Pedagogue's corridor toward their space boat.
Kennedy called after them, "Ten years from now every family on Genoa'll have a car. Wait'll you see. Television, too. We're introducing TV next year. An' civil aviation. Be all over the place in two, three years—"
The Texcocans slammed the spaceport after them.
Kennedy sloshed some more drink into his glass. "Slobs can't stand the truth," he explained to the others.