al sash with ill-concealed self-importance.

"Hey you, there--wait a minute," he called to Mark, waving a zuzz
pistol in his direction.

"Yes?" Mark hesitated, eyed the pistol, and obeyed.

"That scarf--get it off," the man ordered sternly as he approached.
The zuzz pistol was level and steady.

"Why?" Mark demanded. "It's just a scarf. I always wear one."

"You know why," the other man said coldly. "This is a tetotal party.
If I let somebody slip a weapon or something in, it would be an awful
brawl in no time. You know how people are."

The man was right, of course. You can conceal a lot of things in the
fabric of a sheer scarf. Reluctantly, Mark undid the catch and handed
it over.

"Okay. You can pick it up at the entrance when you leave." The
officer's amused eyes wrinkled as he looked Mark up and down. "Say,
that's a pretty nice job you've got there, man. Mind if I ask who made
it?"

"It's pretty good." Mark said cautiously. "It's custom made to a
private specification."

The officer grinned goodnaturedly. "Sure, I understand. That's all
right. I'm not from the revenue department. I don't have to do
anything about bootlegging."

"I don't mean that." Mark protested. "There's nothing illegal--"

The man waved his disregard anyway. "Forget it. It's a nice one,
though. And that copper color is coming back soon, too. These fashions
run in cycles, you know."

"Yes," Mark murmured diffidently. "I thought so, too."

"Sure." The officer eyed it speculatively for a moment. "Two point oh
one centimeter naval, isn't it? They're the best, of course." Mark
nodded shortly, looking away from the talkative officer, hoping he
would stop. But the man went on. "And I don't have any use for these
new non-feeders they've been coming out with recently."

"No," Mark mumbled.

"It's all right to fix it so that the food is not necessary, and it
really is a bother to have to feed those old models whether you want
to or not. But sometimes you like to eat something just for the fun of
it, and with the non-feeder models there's no receptacle for it."

Mark nodded, his eyes searching the huge anteroom, gazing hopefully
between the moving ranks of robot servants. Then he saw her and caught
his breath.

* * * * *

Jennette. His lips formed a low whistle in time-honored acclamation of
excellence. The officer followed his gaze and agreed.

"Yes," he said in a low voice, "that girl is really some