ead." He scowled, turning
back his attention to Tin Philosopher. "I get whopping mad, Old Machine,
whenever I hear that other slogan of theirs, the discriminatory
one--'Untouched by Robot Claws.' Just because they employ a few filthy
androids in their factories!"

Tin Philosopher lifted one of his own sets of bright talons. "Thanks,
P.T. But to continue my historical resume, the next great advance in the
baking art was the substitution of purified carbon dioxide, recovered
from coal smoke, for the gas generated by yeast organisms indwelling in
the dough and later killed by the heat of baking, their corpses
remaining _in situ_. But even purified carbon dioxide is itself a rather
repugnant gas, a product of metabolism whether fast or slow, and forever
associated with those life processes which are obnoxious to the
fastidious."

Here the machine shuddered with delicate clinkings. "Therefore, we of
Puffyloaf are taking today what may be the ultimate step toward purity:
we are aerating our loaves with the noble gas helium, an element which
remains virginal in the face of all chemical temptations and whose slim
molecules are eleven times lighter than obese carbon dioxide--yes, noble
uncontaminable helium, which, if it be a kind of ash, is yet the ash
only of radioactive burning, accomplished or initiated entirely on the
Sun, a safe 93 million miles from this planet. Let's have a cheer for
the helium loaf!"

* * * * *

Without changing expression, Phineas T. Gryce rapped the table thrice in
solemn applause, while the others bowed their heads.

"Thanks, T.P.," P.T. then said. "And now for the Moment of Truth. Miss
Winterly, how is the helium loaf selling?"

The business girl clapped on a pair of earphones and whispered into a
lapel mike. Her gaze grew abstracted as she mentally translated flurries
of brief squawks into coherent messages. Suddenly a single vertical
furrow creased her matchlessly smooth brow.

"It isn't, Mr. Gryce!" she gasped in horror. "Fairy Bread is outselling
Puffyloaves by an infinity factor. So far this morning, _there has not
been one single delivery of Puffyloaves to any sales spot_! Complaints
about non-delivery are pouring in from both walking stores and sessile
shops."

"Mr. Snedden!" Gryce barked. "What bug in the new helium process might
account for this delay?"

Roger was on his feet, looking bewildered. "I can't imagine, sir,
unless--just possibly--there'