"Well... yes."
"That's better. Let me explain some things-Joe has seen them-and you can ask questions, and we'll arrive at a rational understanding. First-Joe, you've seen Chosen here and there who are what our friend Hugh would no doubt describe as 'free.' Tell him."
Joe snorted. "Hugh, you should see-and you would be glad to be privileged to live in Ponse's household. There is just one phrase I can think of to describe them. Po' black trash. Like the white trash there used to be in Mississippi. Poor black trash, not knowing where their next meal is."
"I follow you."
"I think I do, too," agreed Their Charity. "A pungent phrase. I look forward to the day when every man will have servants. It can't come overnight, they'll have to lift themselves up. But a day when all the Chosen will be served-and all servants as well cared for as they are in my own Family. That's my ideal. In the meantime I do the best I can. I look after their welfare from birth until they're called Home by Uncle. They have nothing to fear, utter security-which they wouldn't have out in those mountains as I'm sure you know better than I. They are happy, they are never overworked- which I am-and they have plenty of fun, which is more than I can say! This bridge game today-the first real fun I've had in a month. And they are never punished, only just enough to remind them when they err. Have to do that, you've seen how stupid most of them are. Not that I am inferring that you are- No, I tell you honestly that I think you are smart enough to take care of servants yourself, despite your skin. I'm speaking of the ordinary run. Honestly, Hugh, do you think they could take care of themselves as well as I look out for them?"
"Probably not." Hugh had heard all this before, only nights ago, and in almost the same words-from Memtok. With the difference that Ponse seemed to be honestly fond of his servants and earnest about their welfare-whereas the Chief Domestic had been openly contemptuous of them, even more strongly so than his veiled contempt for the Chosen. "No, they couldn't, most of them."
"Ah! You agree with me."
"No."
Ponse looked pained. "Hugh, how can we have a rational discussion if you say one thing and contradict it in the next breath?"
"I didn't contradict myself. I agreed that you took fine care of the welfare of your servants. But I did not agree that I prefer it to freedom."
"But why, Hugh? Give me a reason, not a philosophical abstraction. If you're not happy, I want to know why. So that I can correct it."
"I can give you one reason. I'm not allowed to live with my wife and children."
"Eh?"
"Barbara. And the twins."
"Oh. Is that important? You have a bedwarmer. Memtok told me, and I congratulated him on having used initiative in an odd situation. Not much gets past that sly old fox. You have one and she is sure to be more expert at her specialty than the ordinary run of breeding slut. As for the brats, no reason why you can't see them-just order them fetched to you whenever you like. But who wants to live with brats? Or with a wife? I don't live with my wife and children, you can bet on that. I see them on appropriate occasions. But who would want to live with them?"
"I would."
"Well- Uncle! I want you to be happy. It can be arranged."
"It can?"
"Certainly. If you hadn't put up such a fuss over being tempered, you could have had them with you all along- though I confess I don't see why. Do you want to see the vet?"
"Uh... no."
"Well, there's another choice. I'll have the slut spayed."
"No!"
Ponse sighed. "You're hard to please. Be practical, Hugh; can't change a scientific breeding system to pamper one servant. Do you know how many servants are in this family? Here and at the Palace? Around eighteen hundred, I believe. Do you know what would happen if I allowed unrestricted breeding? In ten years there would be twice that number. And what would happen next? They would starve! I can't support them n unlimited breeding. Would if I could, but it's wishing for the Moon. Worse, for we can go to the Moon any time it's worth while but nobody can cope with the way servants will breed if left to their own devices. So which is better? To control it? Or let them starve?"
Their Charity sighed. "I wish you were a head shorter, we would work something out. You've been in studs' quarters?"
"I visited it once, with Memtok."
"You noticed the door? You had to stoop; Memtok walked straight in-he used to be a stud. The doors are that height in ~very studs' barracks in the world-and no servant is chosen Lf he can't walk in without stooping. And the slut in this case Ls too tall, too. A wise law, Hugh. I didn't make it; it was handed down a long time ago by Their Mercy of that time. If they are allowed to breed too tall they start needing to be tingled too often and that's not good, for master or servant. No, Hugh. Anything within reason. But don't ask for the impossible." He moved from the divan where he had been sitting ~tête-à-tête with Hugh and sat down at the card table, picked
a deck. "So we'll say no more about it. Do you know how ~o play double solitaire?"
"Yes."
"Then come see if you can beat me and let's be cheerful. A man gets upset when his efforts aren't appreciated."
Hugh shut up. He was thinking glumly that Ponse was not a villain. He was exactly like the members of every ruling class in history: honestly convinced of his benevolence and hurt if it was challenged.
They played a game; Hugh lost, his mind was not on it. They started to lay out another. Their Charity remarked, "I must have more cards painted. These are getting worn."
Hugh said, "Couldn't it be done more quickly, using a printer such as we use for scrolls?"
"Eh? Hadn't thought about it." The big man rubbed one of the XXth century cards. "This doesn't seem much like printing. Were they printed?"
"Oh, yes. Thousands at a time. Millions, I should say, figuring the enormous numbers that used to be sold."
"Really? I wouldn't have though! that bridge, with its demand on the intellect, would have attracted many people."
Hugh suddenly put down his cards. "Ponse? You wanted a way to make money."
"Certainly."
"You have it in your hand. Joe! Come here and let's talk about this. How many decks of cards were sold each year in the United States?"
"Gosh, Hugh, I don't know. Millions, maybe."
"So I would say. At a gross profit of about ninety percent. Mmm- Ponse, bridge and solitaire aren't the only games that can be played with these cards. The possibilities are unlimited. There are games simple as solitaire but played by two or three or more players. There are games a dozen people can play at once. There are hard games and easy games, there is even a form of bridge-'duplicate,' it's called-harder than contract. Ponse, every family-little family-kept one or two or even dozens of decks on hand; it was a rare home that didn't own a deck. I couldn't guess how many were sold. Probably a hundred million decks in use in the United States alone. And you've got a virgin market. All it needs is to get people interested."
"Ponse, Hugh is right," Joe said solemnly. "The possibilities are unlimited."
Ponse pursed up his lips. "If we sold them for a bullock a deck, let us say... mmm-"
"Too much," Joe 'objected. "You would kill your market before you got started."
Hugh said, "Joe, what's that formula for setting a price to maximize profits rather than sales?"
"Works only in a monopoly."
"Well? How is that done here? Patents and copyrights and such? I haven't seen anything about it in what I've read."
Joe looked troubled. "Hugh, the Chosen don't use such a system, they don't need to. Everything is pretty well worked out, things don't change much."