The Swami took a casual turn about the room, leaning to one side on his magic carpet as if banking an airplane.
"Peasant!" He spat the word out and motioned grandly toward the door. Lieutenant Murphy pushed him through.
"Why, that no good bum!" the old man shouted at me. "That no-good from nowhere! I'll fix him! Thinks he's something, does he? I'll show him! Anything he can do I can do better!"
His rage got the better of him. He rushed through the door, shaking both fists above his white head, shouting imprecations, threats, and pleading to be shown how the trick was done, all in the same breath. The new lieutenant cast a stricken look at us and then sped after his charge.
"Looks as if we're finally in production," I said to Sara.
"That's only the second one," she said mournfully. "When you get all six of them, this joint's sure going to be jumping!"
I looked out of her window at the steel and concrete walls of the factory. They were solid, real, secure; they were a symbol of reality, the old reality a man could understand.
"I hope you don't mean that literally, Sara," I answered dubiously.
THE END
