They were German Boxers, formidable creatures and great slobberers. They drooled as he walked up to the low porch but uttered not a sound.
The man who opened the door was fat and needed a shave. He wore a shiny, duraserge suit. "Follow me, please, Mr. Parker."
III
Doak followed him through a high musty living room into a small room off this. There was a small hynrane heater in here, and the room was stifling.
Senator Arnold sat in a wheel chair, his feet elevated. He wore a greasy muffler around his thin neck and a heavy reefer buttoned all the way up.
The fat man left, closing the door behind him. Arnold looked Doak over from head to feet and came back up. "It's about time. Your credentials?"
Doak handed over his wallet. There was, he saw, no chair in the room. Evidently, he was supposed to stand through the interview.
The old man handed the wallet back. "The place is right up that road to the south. First house, only house in sight."
Doak put his wallet in his pocket. "Just what kind of business do you think is going on up there, Senator?"
The old man seemed to spit the word. "Readers."