"Plans! Did you think I'd marry you on a pitiful one thousand kredits a
month?"
He was desperate. "Judy, you can't do this. I'll speak to Nestor. I'll
get him to increase the allowance."
She laughed at him, biting, sarcastic laughter. "Speak to Nestor! You
couldn't get Nestor to do anything. He controls _your_ estate. Or
didn't you know?"
"Judy, please listen. I will--"
"Good-bye Harry. Your ring will--"
He tried desperately to hold her on the screen, cutting in with, "Judy,
it will be only a year or two until Nestor quits operating. Then we
will have the estate."
She was furious. Her anger, smouldering till now, erupted white-hot.
"_You actually expect me to wait for that senile walking adding machine
to run down?_" She was raging now, whiplashing him with abuse. "Why,
you spineless worm! You cheap excuse for a man! If you were half the
man you pretend to be, you'd _make_ that stupid robot quit operating!
Good-bye!"
* * * * *
The impact of her words had stunned him. He walked to the desk, slumped
limply, held his head in his hands. Unseeing he stared at the ledgers,
the much-thumbed journals. His eyes were bleak. Even now, still
reeling under her scorn and smarting under her abuse, he thought of
her. Recalled his last glimpse of her, auburn-haired and red-lipped.
Flinched at the memory of her green eyes, glittering with rage, boring
into him.
He groaned, ran his hands through his dark hair, then rose. His face
was grim. He walked to the garage, rummaged in the trunk of the little
ground scooter, pulled out the three pronged ironite wheel wrench. He
carried it back to the study, laid it beside the desk and sat down to
wait for Nestor....
The old robot shuffled into the study, his diaphragm tubes pulsing
under the strain of the four square trip to Central National. He
pulled a thick roll of orange colored kredits from the pocket of his
blue-serge coat, and handed it to Lowndes. "There you are, Master," he
wheezed.
"Thank you, Nestor," Lowndes replied. He walked toward the study
windows, glanced out into the sunlighted patio, then turned back to
face the robot. "Nestor," he said, "a problem has come up. Do you
think it could be possible to increase the allowance. You see, I am
planning marriage."
Nestor's magenta eye sockets flickered slightly after Lowndes had
finished speaking. "Might I offer a suggestion, Master?" he asked.
"Go ahead."
"Master, it is rumored in the city that you have been frequenting the
establishment of Sliman, the gambler."
Lowndes glared at the robot. "Whadya talking about? What's Sliman
got do with all this? I asked you if you couldn't work out a liberal
increase. I want to get married!"
"I have an answer for you, Master. But I thought it politic to mention
that the odds at Sliman's are definitely against you."
"Forget about Sliman!" snarled Lowndes. "How about the increase?"
The robot's words thudded into Lowndes brain. "An increase is
impossible. Master!" he said. He went on, his aud tones crackling,
"Indeed, I may have already overstepped in gifting you the five
hundred kredits. The testament and tort attorneys may never allow it,
especially since it was in payment of a gambling debt! Good day!"
Nestor reached for the black bowler he had placed on the desk and set
it neatly in the center of his worn pate. He picked up the armload
of books and journals, and headed for the door. He turned back for a
moment to face Lowndes and add "And Master, if you will forgive my
impertinence, I should like to say that I do not believe a marriage
with Miss Judy would be prudent."
In that moment Lowndes' face turned livid with anger. Seizing the heavy
wheel wrench, he lunged for the blue-clad robot. He brought the wrench
down squarely in the center of the black bowler.