"They're very popular, sir."
"From here in town?"
"I wouldn't know as to that, sir."
"Lived here long yourself?"
"Oh, yes, sir." The waiter's expression showed disapproval. "Would there
be anything else, sir?"
"I'm a newcomer here," Brett said. "I wonder if you could tell me--"
"Excuse me, sir." The waiter was gone. Brett poked at the mashed
potatoes. Quizzing golems was hopeless. He would have to find out for
himself. He turned to look at the fat man. As Brett watched he took a
large handkerchief from a pocket, blew his nose loudly. No one turned to
look. The orchestra played softly. The couples danced. Now was as good a
time as any ...
Brett rose, crossed to the other's table. The man looked up.
"Mind if I sit down?" Brett said. "I'd like to talk to you."
The fat man blinked, motioned to a chair. Brett sat down, leaned across
the table. "Maybe I'm wrong," he said quietly, "but I think you're
real."
The fat man blinked again. "What's that?" he snapped. He had a high
petulant voice.
"You're not like the rest of them. I think I can talk to you. I think
you're another outsider."
The fat man looked down at his rumpled suit. "I ... ah ... was caught a
little short today. Didn't have time to change. I'm a busy man. And what
business is it of yours?" He clamped his jaw shut, eyed Brett warily.
"I'm a stranger here," Brett said. "I want to find out what's going on
in this place--"
"Buy an amusement guide. Lists all the shows--"
"I don't mean that. I mean these dummies all over the place, and the
Gels--"
"What dummies? Jells? Jello? You don't like Jello?"
"I love Jello. I don't--"
"Just ask the waiter. He'll bring you your Jello. Any flavor you like.
Now if you'll excuse me ..."
"I'm talking about the brown things; they look like muddy water. They
come around if you interfere with a scene."