Finally Ernest said:
"Down the valley, down the glen
Come the Mercials, ten by ten."
"That makes as much sense as the one about the liver," the lieutenant said.
"Takes it a bit further, I think. No, seriously. 'Mercials' is a set of syllables I made up, as short for 'commercials'—or the sand in their craw, the thumb in their soup—all the things they had to put up with as the most captive of all audiences."
"That wasn't an original thought, then?"
"Probably not. Andy may be trying me out with a few simple couplets before he throws a really hard one. I wonder if he knows he's got through to me." He laughed as the lieutenant looked at him oddly. "I don't mean he, personally. I know as well as you do he's some kind of robot."
"I see. You mean, is somebody controlling him now, or is he just reacting to a stimulus the way he was built to do?"
"Exactly." Ernest frowned at the doll-like creature. "I suppose the scientific way would be to dissect him—it. Take it apart, I mean. I've got to stop thinking of it as a him. We'd better get Doc Braddon in on this."
He punched the 'com button to Doc's cabin. The sleepy voice that answered became alert as Ernest explained. Doc arrived minutes later with an instrument kit, looking eager.