Manners of the Age, H. B. Fyfe [books to read for teens TXT] 📗
- Author: H. B. Fyfe
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Cursing, he lunged forward. The robot reached for him.
This time, Robert missed his grip. Before he could duck away, his wrist was trapped in a metal grasp.
The door will close, he despaired. They'll be too late.
Then, suddenly, he felt the portal drawn back and heard Blue Two speak.
"What does Robert wish?"
"Throw this heap out the door!" gasped Robert.
Amid a trampling of many feet, the major-domo was raised bodily by Blue Two and another pair of Robert's machines and hustled outside. Since the grip on Robert's wrist was not relaxed, he involuntarily accompanied the rush of metal bodies.
"Catch the door!" he called to Blue Two.
When the latter sprang to obey, the other two took the action as a signal to drop their burden. The pink-and-blue robot landed full length with a jingling crash. Robert was free.
With the robots, he made for the entrance. Hearing footsteps behind him as the major-domo regained its feet, he slipped hastily inside.
"Pick up that toolbox!" he snapped. "When that robot stops in the doorway, knock its head off!"
Turning, he held up a finger.
"Do not use the front door!"
The major-domo hesitated.
The heavy toolbox in the grip of Blue Two descended with a thud. The pink-and-blue robot landed on the ground a yard or two outside the door as if dropped from the second floor. It bounced once, emitted a few sparks and pungent wisps of smoke, lay still.
"Never mind, that's good enough," said Robert as Blue Two stepped forward. "One of the others can drag it off to the repair shop. Have the toolbox brought with us."
"What does Robert wish now?" inquired Blue Two, trailing the man toward the stairway.
"I'm going upstairs," said Robert. "And I intend to be prepared if any more doors are closed against me!"
He started up, the measured treads of his own robots sounding reassuringly behind him....
t was about a week later that Robert sat relaxed in the armchair before his own telescreen, facing Henry's wizened visage.
The elder man clucked sympathetically as he re-examined the scratches on Robert's face and the bruise under his right eye.
"And so you left there in the morning?"
"I certainly did!" declared Robert. "We registered a marriage record at the city library by television, of course, but I don't care if I never see her again. She needn't even tell me about the child, if any. I simply can't stand that girl!"
"Now, now," Henry said.
"I mean it! Absolutely no consideration for my wishes. Everything in the house was run to suit her convenience."
"After all," Henry pointed out, "it is her house."
Robert glared. "What has that to do with it? I don't think I was as unreasonable as she said in smashing that robot. The thing just wouldn't let me alone!"
"I guess," Henry suggested, "it was conditioned to obey Marcia-Joan, not you."
"Well, that shows you! Whose orders are to count, anyway? When I tell a robot to do something, I expect it done. How would you like to find robots trying to boss you around?"
"Are you talking about robots," asked Henry, "or the girl?"
"Same thing, isn't it? Or it would be if I'd decided to bring her home with me."
"Conflict of desires," murmured Henry.
"Exactly! It's maddening to have a perfectly logical action interfered with because there's another person present to insist—insist, mind you—on having her way."
"And for twenty-odd years, you've had your own way in every tiny thing."
Somewhere in the back of Robert's lurked a feeling that Henry sounded slightly sarcastic.
"Well, why shouldn't I?" he demanded. "I noticed that in every disagreement, my view was the right one."
"It was?"
"Of course it was! What did you mean by that tone?"
"Nothing...." Henry seemed lost in thought. "I was just wondering how many 'right' views are left on this planet. There must be quite a few, all different, even if we have picked up only a few by television. An interesting facet of our peculiar culture—every individual omnipotent and omniscient, within his own sphere."
Robert regarded him with indignant incredulity.
"You don't seem to understand my point," he began again. "I told her we ought to come to my house, where things are better arranged, and she simply refused. Contradicted me! It was most—"
He broke off.
"The impudence of him!" he exclaimed. "Signing off when I wanted to talk!"
—H. B. FYFE
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Manners of the Age, by Horace Brown Fyfe
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