The native vehicle, a rattle-trap affair reminiscent of ancient earth internal combustion wagons, clattered up. The driver was unclearly human under a slovenly, unkempt exterior; he was also middle-aged, fat and anxious as he stumbled out. "Ah," he said eagerly, "distinguished visitors! And—uh—is it possible—that is, I mean to say, I—we all in fact, wonder if it could be you who is responsible for the sudden, total change that seems to have affected our—ah—perceptive climate?"
"And if we are," snapped Screed, "it was certainly a degenerative situation that desperately needed changing. You and all your people should thank me for it. And you will."
"Oh yes," said the native. "We already do, indeed. But—uh—the thing is, not that we aren't grateful for the awakening, but it is all so horribly confusing to us. You see, what I mean to say, we don't know exactly what—"
"You need leadership! Strong, efficient leadership."
"That's it exactly. If only you would—"
"I shall." He made an expansive, condescending gesture. "I, with the help of Mrs. Screed—I, by the way, am Secad Screed, the Leader—and my assistant, will take full command of all administration immediately. You will find that I will soon whip you into shape."
"Ah, sir, how can we ever repay you?"