Cog Almighty," the robot said, rising. "You poured that drink yourself.
How could I have poisoned it? Drink!"

"I won't," Martin said, with a coward's stubbornness, fighting back the
growing suspicion that the drink might really be toxic.

"You swallow that drink," ENIAC commanded, his voice beginning to quiver
slightly. "It's perfectly harmless."

"Then prove it!" Martin said cunningly. "Would you be willing to switch
glasses? Would you drink this poisoned brew yourself?"

"How do you expect me to drink?" the robot demanded. "I--" He paused.
"All right, hand me the glass," he said. "I'll take a sip. Then you've
got to drink the rest of it."

"Aha!" Martin said. "You betrayed yourself that time. You're a robot.
You can't drink, remember? Not the same way that I can, anyhow. Now I've
got you trapped, you assassin. _There's_ your brew." He pointed to a
floor-lamp. "Do you dare to drink with me now, in your electrical
fashion, or do you admit you are trying to poison me? Wait a minute,
what am I saying? That wouldn't prove a--"

"Of course it would," the robot said hastily. "You're perfectly right,
and it's very cunning of you. We'll drink together, and that will prove
your whiskey's harmless--so you'll keep on drinking till your reflexes
slow down, see?"

"Well," Martin began uncertainly, but the unscrupulous robot unscrewed a
bulb from the floor lamp, pulled the switch, and inserted his finger
into the empty socket, which caused a crackling flash. "There," the
robot said. "It isn't poisoned, see?"

"You're not swallowing it," Martin said suspiciously. "You're holding it
in your mouth--I mean your finger."

ENIAC again probed the socket.

"Well, all right, perhaps," Martin said, in a doubtful fashion. "But I'm
not going to risk your slipping a powder in my liquor, you traitor.
You're going to keep up with me, drink for drink, until I can eyeprint
that gimmick of yours--or else I stop drinking. But does sticking your
finger in that lamp really prove my liquor isn't poisoned? I can't
quite--"

"Of course it does," the robot said quickly. "I'll prove it. I'll do it
again ... _f(t)_. Powerful DC, isn't it? Certainly it proves it. Keep
drinking, now."

* * * * *

His gaze watchfully on the robot, Martin lifted his glass of club soda.

"_F ff ff f(t)!_" cried the robot, some time later, sketching a
singularly loose smile on its metallic face.

"Best fermented mammoth's milk