Homer said: "Guns aren't lawful; / Nooses give; / Gas smells awful; / You might as well live."
"Oh, I'll live," said Galahad. "There's always a chance of a good jolt of gasoline."
"Speaking of which," said Confucius, "it wouldn't hurt to give us a swig of yours. You can tell Sanborn that Jake cheated him."
"I don't know," said Homer. "You guys may have lost your inhibitions towards organic people, but I've still got most of mine. And that would be stirring up trouble among them."
"Well, tell him the stuff evaporated in the sun," said Galahad. "Who do you owe the most to, a lousy meat-man or one of your own metal and fluid?"
"Just a little swallow," said Confucius. "Didn't we walk miles to fetch fuel to you when you ran out? The laborer is worthy of his hire."
"Well, all right," said Homer, "but only a little. Open up."
Galahad and Confucius each opened the door in his chest and dragged out a funnel attached to the end of a flexible metal tube. Homer unscrewed the cap of one gasoline can and poured a splash into Galahad's funnel. He replaced the cap, opened the other can, and did likewise with Confucius.
"Ah-h, I feel better already," said Galahad, slamming the door in his chest. "That sure gingers you up."
"Be careful," said Homer, "or it'll dissolve your lubrication away."
"Poor Homer," said Confucius, "always worrying. I've been running on dry bearings so long I don't know what a good lube-job feels like. Another shot would feel good, too."
"I told you —"said Homer.
"Look at it this way," said Galahad. "What will Sanborn do with this gasoline? Put it in one of those unsafe old contraptions and go for a drive. And what's the leading cause of death among organic people? Automobile accidents."
"We'd be contributing directly to his death," said Confucius. "It would be healthier for him to walk anyway."
"You'd be doing him a favor not to deliver it for him to put in one of those risky old cars. You don't want to be responsible for disfunctionalizing him, do you?"
"No, but —"said Homer.
In the end Homer gave Galahad and Confucius their additional shots of gasoline. Galahad said: "You've got to have some too, Homer."
"No. That's one thing I won't do."
"Sure you will. You don't want to be the only sober one in the party, do you? It's a pretty dismal feeling."
"But —"
"And it'll hurt our feelings. Make us feel you look down on us as a couple of old robums. You wouldn't do that, would you? To your best friends?"
Homer's loud-speaker gave an electronic sigh as he opened his chest. "You guys will be the disfunction of me yet," he said, pouring. "Say, that's a good grade of stuff."
"High octane rating," said Confucius.
As eleven o'clock neared, Archibald Sanborn stepped out on the beach to see if Homer was coming. The sunlight poured down in a white flood and bounced blindingly from beach and wave. A frigate bird squealed overhead.
As Homer was back under the trees with Galahad and Confucius, the beach appeared empty save for a couple of bathers. Sanborn angrily went back into his house and telephoned Doctor Brauer.
"Doc," he said, "I don't see how I can keep my date with you. I'm awfully sorry and it's not really my fault."
"What's the matter?"
"It's that damned old robum, Homer." Sanborn told of the errand for the gasoline.
"Well, couldn't you walk?" said Brauer.
"Walk?" said Sanborn in a shocked voice. Then another thought occurred to him. "I'd have to bring the kid, and it would take all day."
"Then stay where you are; I'll drive over. It'll only take a couple of minutes."
Homer, unsteadily pouring gasoline into his funnel, said: "Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before / I swore — but was I sober when I swore? / And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand / My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore. I've got to go after this shot, boys, no fooling."
Galahad said: "You know what we ought to do with this gasoline?"
"What?"
"If we really want to do young Sanborn good, we wont give him any. Even a drop is dangerous in the hands of an organic man."
"They don't carry it in their hands; they put it in the fuel tanks of their cars," said Homer.
"Don't be an old pedant," said Galahad. "You know what I mean. If we took these cans home, we could have the finest orgy in years."
"Get behind me, Satan," said Homer. "I .won't hear of it ..."
Archibald Sanborn lay on his own couch and talked to Doctor Brauer.
"... so you see I'm a poor little rich boy; only I'm not really rich. I have enough income so I can always eat, though not enough for yachts and stuff. So I can't argue that I've got to work to keep from starving. At the same time I haven't enough brains to make a real splash in anything — you know — creative, like writing or art. I never finished prep-school, let alone college. So what can I do? My only real talent is tinkering; all my brains are in my fingers. But, if I take a job in a garage, like I did last year, Roberta says it's ridiculous and undignified 'for a man in my position.' Then she comes dowrt here to our winter place and tells me I'd better come along, or else. So I have to quit my job, and you can't get anywhere at that rate. Anyway, I'm too lazy to be a success even at mechanical work, not having to worry about my next meal."
Doctor Brauer said: "Lots of people wish they could live a life like yours. Why not relax and enjoy it?"
Sanborn twisted his face. "It's not so simple. My father was a big man who made a success at several things, and it makes me feel guilty not to be like him. Roberta's father's a pretty important guy too and keeps needling me about 'making something of myself.' Even Roberta does it, when she's not stopping me from doing any real work by dragging me away to resorts. And I agree with 'em; I'm a lazy no-good bum. I don't want to be a bum, only I don't know how to stop. It's driving me nuts. I try to use my poor little ability on this hobby of old cars, but Roberta makes a fuss about even that. If we didn't have 'em, she says, we could afford a 'plane and a robot maid and a trip to Europe. So everybody's pulling me in a different direction. I'm wasting my life ..."
Gordon Sanborn, strewing the floor of the next room with blocks and other toys, paid no attention to this adult talk. Presently, tiring of blocks, he toddled out of the house. His father had ordered him, on pain of dire penalties, to stay where he was, but Gordie never remembered commands longer than thirty seconds.
He trotted south along the beach, until he met Hercules. Hercules had walked two miles south from the MacDonald mansion without seeing any stealable infants and was now returning to his master.
"Hello," said Hercules. "Aren't you the Sanborn kid?"
"Yes, my name is Gordon Boulanger Sanborn," said Gordie. "You're a robot but you're not Homer. Homer's my friend. Who are you?"
"I'm Hercules. Would you like to see Homer?"
"Sure. Where is he? That's a funny name, Hercules. Where is Homer? Has he gone away?"
"He's home sick and he'd like to see you."
"Okay, take me to see Homer. I like Homer. I don't like you. Bang-bang, you're dead. Some day I may like you, but not now."
Hercules led Gordie, chattering cheerfully, to the Mac-Donald grounds. They walked up a path flanked by man-high weeds and young trees that had seeded in any old way. Hercules brought the child in to Napoleon. Napoleon put away MUS to OZON and fixed his eye on Gordie.
"You're not Homer," said Gordie. "I don't like you either. Homer has two legs, but you have four. Why have you got four legs?"
"Because I am heavier than the liquid-fuel robots," said Napoleon.