* * * *

The shower room was a glittering plastic wonder, and the sheer luxury of
it eased Carrin's mind. He threw his clothes into the A. E. automatic
Kleen-presser, and adjusted the shower spray to a notch above "brisk."
The five-degrees-above-skin-temperature water beat against his thin
white body. Delightful! And then a relaxing rub-dry in the A. E.
Auto-towel.

Wonderful, he thought, as the towel stretched and kneaded his stringy
muscles. And it should be wonderful, he reminded himself. The A. E.
Auto-towel with shaving attachments had cost three hundred and thirteen
dollars, plus tax.

But worth every penny of it, he decided, as the A. E. shaver came out of
a corner and whisked off his rudimentary stubble. After all, what good
was life if you couldn't enjoy the luxuries?

His skin tingled when he switched off the Auto-towel. He should have
been feeling wonderful, but he wasn't. Miller's suicide kept nagging at
his mind, destroying the peace of his day off.

Was there anything else bothering him? Certainly there was nothing wrong
with the house. His papers were in order for the finance man.

"Have I forgotten something?" he asked out loud.

"The Avignon Electric finance man will be here in fifteen minutes," his
A. E. bathroom Wall-reminder whispered.

"I know that. Is there anything else?"

The Wall-reminder reeled off its memorized data--a vast amount of
minutiae about watering the lawn, having the Jet-lash checked, buying
lamb chops for Monday, and the like. Things he still hadn't found time
for.

"All right, that's enough." He allowed the A. E. Auto-dresser to dress
him, skillfully draping a new selection of fabrics over his bony frame.
A whiff of fashionable masculine perfume finished him and he went into
the living room, threading his way between the appliances that lined the
walls.

A quick inspection of the dials on the wall assured him that the house
was in order. The breakfast dishes had been sanitized and stacked, the
house had been cleaned, dusted, polished, his wife's garments had been
hung up, his son's model rocket ships had been put back in the closet.

Stop worrying, you hypochondriac, he told himself angrily.

The door announced, "Mr. Pathis from Avignon Finance is here."

Carrin started to tell the door to open, when he noticed the Automatic
Bartender.

Good God, why hadn't he thought of it!

The Automatic Bartender was manufactured by Castile Motors. He