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Updated: June 12, 2025
"My Christian name" he blushed it out "is Gustavus." His friend took a droll conscious leap. "And she calls you Gussy?" "No, not even Gussy. But I scarcely think I ought to tell you," he pursued, "if she herself gave you no glimpse of the fact. Any implication that she consciously avoided it might make you see deeper depths."
"Not yet, maybe," Gusterson said darkly. "Not this model. Fay, I'm serious about bugs thinking. Or if they don't exactly think, they feel. They've got an interior drama. An inner glow. They're conscious. For that matter, Fay, I think all your really complex electronic computers are conscious too." "Quit kidding, Gussy." "Who's kidding?" "You are. Computers simply aren't alive." "What's alive?
Of this race a gentleman from Cedarville, named Mr. Richards, was to be the starter and judge. The course was a short mile, down the lake and back again. The Pornell boys to enter were named Gray, Wardham, Gussy, and De Long. The contestants from Putnam Hall were Tom Rover, Fred Garrison, Tubbs, and a lad named Hollbrook. "Are you ready?" asked Mr.
"Say, Fay," he asked in a soft voice after about five minutes, "are you meditating?" "Why, no," Fay responded, starting up and then stifling another yawn. "Just resting a bit. I seem to get more tired these days, somehow. You'll have to excuse me, Gussy. But what made you think of meditation?" "Oh, I just got to wonderin' in that direction," Gusterson said.
"Hey, didn't I suggest cocaine injections last time I saw you?" "So you did," Fay agreed flatly. "Oh by the way, Gussy, here's that check for a yard I promised you. Micro doesn't muzzle the ox." "Hooray!" Daisy cheered faintly. "I thought you said it was going to be for two." Gusterson complained. "Budgeting always forces a last-minute compromise," Fay shrugged.
"My God," Gusterson gasped, "are those the kind of jolts it's giving you now?" "Don't you get it, Gussy? You never load your tickler except when you're feeling buoyantly enthusiastic. You don't just tell yourself what to do hour by hour next week, you sell yourself on it.
An incandescent streak shot up the sky from a little above the far horizon and a doubly dazzling point of light appeared just above the top of it, with the effect of God dotting an "i". "Ha, that'll skewer espionage satellites like swatting flies!" Fay proclaimed as the portent faded. "Bracing! Gussy, where's your tickler? I've got a new spool for it that'll razzle-dazzle you."
"By the way, Gussy," he said, "have you heard anything from the Red Cross about that world-saving medal I nominated you for? I know you think the whole concept of world-saving medals is ridiculous, especially when they started giving them to all heads of state who didn't start atomic wars while in office, but " "Nary a peep," Gusterson told him. "I'm not proud, Fay.
That organ literally beat faster at the approach of the gentleman who was this time with Cissy, and who, as seen from within the cage, became on the spot the happiest of the happy circumstances with which her mind had invested the friend of Fritz and Gussy.
"Mobilize the topsiders contact the wilderness patrols and manned satellites pour ether in the tunnel airpumps invent and crash-manufacture missiles that will home on ticklers without harming humans SOS Mars and Venus dope the shelter water supply do something! Gussy, you don't realize what people are going through down there every second."
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