"In order to mesh their thoughts right on the button, and direct them properly and at the correct time," Malone said. "Right?"
"Ah ... correct," O'Connor said. "Given that, Mr. Malone, I imagine that it might possibly be done."
"Wonderful," Malone said.
"However," O'Connor said, apparently glad to throw even a little cold water on the notion, "it could not be done for very long periods of time, you understand. It would happen in rather short bursts."
"That's right," Malone said, enjoying the crestfallen look on O'Connor's face. "That's exactly what I was looking for."
"I'm ... ah ... glad to have been of service," O'Connor said. "However, Mr. Malone, I should like to request—"
"Oh, don't worry," Malone said. "I won't slam the door." He vanished.
It was eight-fifty. Hurriedly, he rinsed himself off, shaved and put on his evening clothes. But he was still late—it was two minutes after nine when he showed up at the door that led off the lobby to the Universal Joint. Luba was, surprisingly, waiting for him there.
"Ready for a vast feast?" she asked pleasantly.