"Listen," said Ernest.
"Don't you cry, boys; don't you quiver,
Though all the sand is in your liver."
"What's that?" the lieutenant said. "Do you feel all right, Mister Hotaling?"
"Sure. That's what he said. Raggedy Andy here. I translated it—with a little poetic license."
"What does it mean?"
"I don't think it's a direct message to us. More likely it's something filed away inside his brain, or electronic storage chamber or whatever he's got. The verse is in the pattern of the ones I translated the other day. The question now is whether Andy has any original thoughts in his head or whether he's just a walking record library."
"How can you tell?"
"By continuing to listen to him, I suppose. A parrot might fool you into thinking it had intelligence of its own, if you didn't know anything about parrots, but after a while you'd realize it was just a mimic. Right, Andy?"
The puppet-like creature hummed again and Ernest listened, gesturing the lieutenant to be quiet.