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36 make a note of that.” And Jarvis took out a notebook to make an entry.

“You have the notebook habit?” snorted the Professor.

“Yes, I can’t afford to waste ideas, suggestions, thoughts.”

“Bah! A most offensive habit.”

“I gather, from your general attitude,” Jarvis began again, “that you dislike me.”

“I neither like nor dislike you. I don’t know you.”

“You never will know me, at this rate.”

“I am not sure that I care to.”

“Why not? What have you against me?”

“You are not practical.”

“Do you consider yourself practical?”

“I do. I am the acme of practical. I am mathematical.”

He slew another bug.

“How can you do that?” cried Jarvis, his concern in his face. “That slug has a right to life. Why don’t you get the point of view of the slug?”

“He kills my roses,” justified the Professor. “He’s a murderer. Society has a right to extinguish him.”

“The old fallacy, a tooth for a tooth?”

“You’d sacrifice my roses to save this insect?”