I opened the door for them. Sara looked up. She saw the two cylinders come into view, moving under their own power.
"Here we go again," she said, resignedly.
The two cylinders pushed themselves over the door sill, got clear outside my office. Then they went inert. Both Sara and I tried nudging them, poking them. They just lay there; mission accomplished. I carried them back inside my office and lay them on the floor. Immediately both of them began to head for the door again.
"Simple," Sara said dryly, "they just can't stand to be in the same room with you, that's all."
"You're not just whistling, gal," I answered. "That's the whole point."
"Have I said something clever?" she asked seriously.
I took the cylinders back into my office and put them in a desk drawer. I watched the desk for a while, but it didn't change position. Apparently it was too heavy for the weak force activating the cylinders.
I picked up the phone and called Old Stone Face. I told him about the cylinders.
"There!" he exclaimed with satisfaction. "I knew all that fellow needed was a good old-fashioned talking to. Some day, my boy, you'll realize that you still have a lot to learn about handling men."
"Yes, sir," I answered.