is
worth twenty million wogs and it's sealed behind quad armor-glass in
Prime Art--but I'll bet wogs to wiggles the Prime Curator himself, with
all his apparatus, couldn't tell this one from his!"

"I wouldn't take even one wiggle's worth of that. And this 'Laughing
Cavalier' and this 'Toledo' are twice as old and twice as fabulously
valuable."

"And there are my own golf clubs...."

"Excuse us, sirs," the Omans said, "These things were simple because
they could be induced in your minds. But the matter of a staff could
not, nor what you would like to eat for supper, and it is growing late."

"Staff? What the hell has the staff got to do with ..."

"_House_-staff, they mean," Karns said. "We don't need much of anybody,
boys. Somebody to keep the place shipshape, is all. Or, as a de luxe
touch, how about a waitress? One housekeeper and one waitress. That'll
be finer."

"Very well, sirs. There is one other matter. It has troubled us that we
have not been able to read in your minds the logical datum that they
should in fact simulate Doctor Bells and Doctor Blake?"

"Huh?" Both men gasped--and then both exploded like one twelve-inch
length of primacord.

* * * * *

While the Omans could not understand this purely Terran reasoning, they
accepted the decision without a demurring thought. "Who, then, are the
two its to simulate?"

"No stipulation; roll your own," Hilton said, and glanced at Karns.
"None of these Oman women are really hard on the eyes."

"Check. Anybody who wouldn't call any one of 'em a slurpy dish needs a
new set of optic nerves."

"In that case," the Omans said, "no delay at all will be necessary, as
we can make do with one temporarily. The Sory, no longer Sora, who has
not been glad since the Tuly replaced it, is now in your kitchen. It
comes."

A woman came in and stood quietly in front of the two men, the wafted
air carrying from her clear, smooth skin a faint but unmistakable
fragrance of Idaho mountain syringa. She was radiantly happy; her
bright, deep-green eyes went from man to man.

"You wish, sirs, to give me your orders verbally. And yes, you may order
fresh, whole, not-canned hens' eggs."

"I certainly will, then; I haven't had a fried egg since we left Terra.
But ... Larry said ... _you_ aren't Sory!"

"Oh, but I am, sir."

Karns had been staring her, eyes popping. "Holy Saint Patrick! Talk
about simulation, Jarve! They've made her over into L