'We're between two switches,' De Forest drawled. 'If we drop them in any place that isn't under the Board, the natives will make their presence an excuse for cutting out, same as Illinois did, and forcing the Board to take over. If we drop them in any place under the Board's control they'll be killed as soon as our backs are turned.'
'If you say so,' said Pirolo thoughtfully, 'I can guarantee that they will become extinct in process of time, quite happily. What is their birth-rate now?'
'Go down and ask 'em,' said De Forest.
'I think they might become nervous and tear me to bits,' the philosopher of Foggia replied.
'Not really? Well?'
'Open the bilge-doors,' said Takahira with a downward jerk of the thumb.
'Scarcely—after all the trouble we've taken to save 'em,' said De Forest.
'Try London,' Arnott suggested. 'You could turn Satan himself loose there, and they'd only ask him to dinner.'
'Good man! You've given me an idea. Vincent! Oh, Vincent!' He threw the General Communicator open so that we could all hear, and in a few minutes the chartroom filled with the rich, fruity voice of Leopold Vincent, who has purveyed all London her choicest amusements for the last thirty years. We answered with expectant grins, as though we were actually in the stalls of, say, the Combination on a first night.
'We've picked up something in your line,' De Forest began.
