PROWL AT SCHOOL [91] In a school in Worcester, pupils going into a computer programming class were surprised to find a USA police car parked in the front of the classroom. Mr.Kenworthy, a teacher who was in the room, said that it was Prowl the Transformer who had come to teach computer programming, since Miss Langhaugh, their previous computer programming teacher, had suddenly married and left. Several of the boys, who only knew of Transformers as toys and fictional characters, doubted Mr.Kenworthy's sanity, and said so. The childish remarks were replaced by a silence of shock and feeling of unreality as the already exotic looking two-tone USA style police car unfolded into the 18-foot-tall form of a living fullsize Autobot, not remote behind the barrier of page or screen, but improbably real in front of them in their classroom, not fictional as some of them knew him before. (To fit in the room, Prowl was `kneeling' on his hips (for he could bend his hip joints at a right angle backwards)). "What on Cybertron?" one boy exclaimed desperately. "Daddy said I mustn't be in a closed room or garage with a car running, it makes carbon monoxide." another objected. "It'll make carbon monoxious phew!!mes! Phew!" said another boy, pleased at finding a timewasting wisecrack; then also he realized that he was seeing a real Transformer and not a mock-up or a human in a suit. "Oh ye gods." he said weakly. "Not in here. He's got an auxiliary electric motor to run off the mains." Mr.Kenworthy explained. "In a toyshop once I saw a man in a suit like the Transformer Hotrod." said another. Prowl connected himself to a power point. He had no need for a terminal, as he connected Mr.Kenworthy's computer link straight to an area of his brain cortex. Mr.Kenworthy eventually asserted control over the class's attention, and explained that the real Transformers were made at Wernicke's computer factory in Droitwich. Some of the class had heard of them but had thought that they were merely radio controlled fullsized models. They soon learned otherwise. "Some work!" Prowl exclaimed, making a loud engine revving noise to call for attention, "Turn your terminals on and log on. Write a program in `C' to solve quadratic equations. If you've anything to say to me, type it on your terminal with `SAY PROWL, comma' before it, and I'll answer on your screen, to save distracting other pupils with it. Don't try `SAY , comma', it won't work, so no collaborating. I've lineprintered out enough copies of the `Emacs' screen editor manual for you all to have one each, so you needn't go to look at someone else's copy and collaborate while you're at it.". "Oh very logical, just like it says on the box that the Prowl toy comes in. He thinks of everything." Ellison thought. Mr.Kenworthy wrote on the blackboard the standard quadratic equation and its solution, and left. Prowl, wanting a book which was on his table, felt about for it with a hand, although it was well within his eyesight range. [92] The boys settled down. Some of them turned to other things. Ellison's screen suddenly beeped and cleared and displayed this:- MESSAGE FROM PROWL TO ELLISON Since you have made your own choice of study reading, please submit by Friday a 100-line essay on the relevance of Dennis the Menace and Minnie the Minx to modern computer advances. (Type esc-P to get your program display back.) ELLISON>_MESSAGE1 "He's as sarcastic as the English master." Elliott thought annoyedly, "Bye bye Beano again, and I've only half read it. School's a yawn. Perhaps someone'll let me read his. Hang on, he's at the front, how could he see what I was reading under my desk lid? Judging by the way he's feeling about for that book, he's got a blind area in his eyesight: help!! I bet that's because he's switched that part of his eyesight area to a hidden camera at the back of the room! What else has he seen?". MESSAGE FROM PROWL TO ZAHEDANI Bring me the rest of the sweets which you intend to eat behind your terminal. Write out 50 times: "I must not eat in class.". (Type esc-P to get your program display back.) ZAHEDANI>_MESSAGE1 "He's in front! How did he see them? Bang goes 34 pence." Zahedani thought. MESSAGE FROM PROWL TO ROBINSON Bring me the package which Smith passed to you under his desk. (Type esc-P to get your program display back.) ROBINSON>_MESSAGE1 "Oh help. It'll the headmaster and the police, and also ..." Robinson thought scaredly, but the package made its inevitable final journey and joined Elliott's comic and Zahedani's sweets on Prowl's table. Jameson typed `SLIST PRQUADR.CC' to list his program out. His terminal printed out this much of it:- #include {double Burnley,United,Leeds,City; printf("coefficient of x*x?"); readf("%e\n",&Burnley); then was interrupted by a curt message from Prowl to use names more relevant to the problem. "OK, OK, OK, keep your tyres on." he irritatedly typed into the computer, which complained that `OK' was not a known command. He resignedly typed `ED PRQUADR.CC', then `C/Burnley/A/gi*' and `C/United/B/gi*' etc, replacing every occurrence of each of his beloved football names by common algebra names. MESSAGE FROM PROWL TO NEWTON Re this line in your program:- root1=(-b+sqrt(b*b-4*a*c))/2*a; root2=(-b-sqrt(b*b-4*a*c))/2*a; (1) In computers, `/' divides by the next one term only, and e.g. `x/y*z' means `(x/y)*z'. You should have put `/2/a' or `/(2*a)'. (2) To save computer time, work out `sqrt(b*b-4*a*c)' once only and store its value in a variable. Elliott finished writing his program in two versions, one for himself. "PERMIT PRWQUAD.CC SMITH" he typed, to let Paul Smith copy the other version. ": This command has been disabled for ordinary users." the computer replied. "SAC PRWQUAD.CC SMITH:LUR" he typed, trying a more basic command. ": This command has been disabled for ordinary users." the computer replied. "SAY SMITH, Sorry, the computer won't let me send you the file." he typed, preferring to contact Paul Smith at a distance rather than face to face when forced to admit failure. ": Only SAY PROWL is allowed to ordinary users." the computer replied. "MAIL -TO SMITH -FILE PRWQUAD.CC -SUBJECT Here it is" he typed, getting desperate. ": This command has been disabled for ordinary users." the computer replied. MESSAGE FROM PROWL TO ELLIOTT No collaborating. Where did you learn all those commands? "SAY PROWL, Can I make an urgent phone call?" Paul Smith typed. MESSAGE FROM PROWL TO SMITH Type the message and the phone number onto a file named T$CALL, and I will pass the message on. Stay seated and do not disturb the class as you keep on doing. "Thank you for nothing." Paul Smith thought seeing this come up on his screen, "That's technology put an end to excuse to get out alone to see to my matters. Why did I get into this in the first place? And if teacher or the head looks in that package, that's more money than I like the idea of down the drain, and other people also'll be wanting to know what happened.". Shortly before the lesson ended, Mr.Kenworthy returned. "I notice that many of them have incorporated snippets of my name in their filenames. Do other computer programming teachers get that?" Prowl asked him. The boys left for their next class. Paul Smith, as he passed the teacher's table, seeing that both Prowl and Mr.Kenworthy were looking away, quietly picked up the package and ran. Mr.Kenworthy saw with alarm that Prowl had extracted a large gun from inside himself; but it fired only a grab on a line. The grab closed round the package and Smith's arm, and reeled him in like a hooked fish. Mr.Kenworthy, holding Smith tightly by his ear with his right hand, tore the package open with his left hand. It was 500 cigarettes. "What's this now!? You get mixed in too much" Mr.Kenworthy asked sharply, "Prowl, transform, a little trip to the police station.". "Not fair." Smith wailed, "Giant robot, hidden cameras, won't let me out to phone. Oww, leggo. My dad'll get you.". "No he won't. I know him." Mr.Kenworthy replied. [93] Prowl transformed into car form. Mr.Kenworthy got into him, dragging Smith in. As Prowl drove out of a goods entrance and away, Mr.Kenworthy said angrily: "Elliott writing your program; Robinson looking after your package, which was 500 fags; you're getting your fingers into pies again!, as the saying goes. We're going to your father's, and Robinson's father's, and the police.". "Please! Not my father! I'll pay it back somehow! I'll look for a ..." Paul Smith wailed, in quite a different voice from the undertone of threat that he used some other times. "It be your father, the police! The school's sick of this!" said Mr.Kenworthy. "OK! OK!" said Smith, his resistance breaking down, "You'll find out anyway! Transformers belong in toyshops and comics, silly little kids' stuff, till a real one orders me about! OK, OK, some money. It went at that place by the bus station. Those machines are a swizz. A man at the market said I could have some money if I ...". "Now it comes out!, or part of it does." Mr.Kenworthy interrupted sharply, "Money gone on a wretched gambling machine addiction, and now you need the money again, or else? You will tell me and your father and the police the beginning of the matter, and the middle of the matter, and the end of the matter, and all about the matter, and all the names of all the people that you are in it with. Trouble gets you into worse trouble. And thank Mr.Prowl for pulling you out of it in time. Cover-ups for clues left by other cover-ups for clues left by yet other cover-ups till so much of your mind's time's taken up by keeping track of it all that you can't do your school exercises! What's Robinson's part in this? (You scoffing at everyone who plays with Transformer toys or reads the comic, till a real one catches you out!)" "Agh - khakh - he was to take it for me to two men that doss down St.Andrews Church's old coal chute. He lives near there and I don't." said Smith. "He'd've been lucky! Optimus Prime caught those two, ten days ago, when he went to investigate a subsidence in the crypt there. It was in the local paper." said Prowl. "What, there's a real one of him also!?" said Smith desperately. "And a real Laserbeak, and you know what the fictional one's like. The rest of the matter, please, now, all of it.". said Prowl. "Leave me alone, both of you. I found where Dad keeps the rates money. I've got to pay it back. Questions questions. Fags gone. I'll be for it because I didn't phone today. Leave me alone." Smith whined. "OK. That's that out. Now who's the `man at the market'?" Mr.Kenworthy persisted. "`For it', meaning `in trouble', with who? Now more comes out! What guarantee that he or those two'd've paid you?" said Prowl, "Lets revise what I've got so far. You spent the rates money on gambling machines. (And if they let underage children use them, the police better prosecute them, or I will.) You got into a panic to get the money back. You looked around for odd jobs. Someone at the market approached you and you found yourself being used as a thieves' runner, and after your first `job' for them you had to stick at it, else they'd expose you. Well, you've been exposed anyway. I see you're not so cocky and bossy now, caught out by grown-ups with everything coming out in the filtering like sludge out of old oil.". "Right." said Mr.Kenworthy, "The `man at the market'. Prowl will show parts of faces, what the police call `identikit', on his dashboard screen. You tell him which is the right combination. You may get let off for less if you help to catch him. Such people have to be stopped. It's unlikely he'd've paid you the money he promised you.". "Leave me alone, you oversized tin @#^&*. Don't tell my father. I'll get the money back somehow." Smith wailed, and started weeping. "Get it back how?, you crybaby." said Prowl. Prowl took them to Smith's house. Mr.Kenworthy dragged Paul Smith out by one ear and rang the doorbell. Paul's father Albert, and a policeman, came to the door. "Paul!" Albert exclaimed, "You promised that time you'd keep out of trouble! Your new teacher Mr.Prowell having to ring me - police calling - you brought home in a police car - you've done it now! Bring him in, Mr.Prowell.". "No, I'm Mr.Kenworthy, another teacher. Prowl's here." said Mr.Kenworthy. "Mr.Kenworthy, sorry. But where is Mr.Prowl? There's nobody else in your car." said Albert, and then ordered Paul to come in. [94] Prowl transformed to robot form, startling Albert, who had not heard of such things before except as science fiction. Prowl stood on the pavement and looked in at the window of the front bedroom, which the others went upstairs to. "Aihhh!" screeched Albert's wife Mary, who went upstairs with them, "It talks! I feel faint! Bert, it's a Gobot! My young nephew's got some, toy-sized and of plastic, but that big - that great steel face at the window for real! What's it want, anyway?". "No, I'm a Transformer." said Prowl a little curtly at the interruption, then told them what had happened at school. "Well!" said Albert when Prowl had finished, "The informant's a bit exotic, but the information's the sort of thing I've been fearing for some time. Would you like a cup of tea? (Not you, Paul!) I'm sorry you've been troubled.". "Embezzled the rates money on a scruffy addiction, is it?" said Albert, "Right, your bike goes, and anything else of yours that'll sell, to make up the amount. You won't need the bike any more, to ride about on getting into mischief. From now on, no money gets into your hands. No pocket money. I'll send your dinner money as a cheque in the post. After school, you will come straight home for your tea and stay in till morning, however fine and hot it is. I'm sick of funny characters and complainants coming round. Say sorry to Mr.Prowl and Mr.Kenworthy and the policeman for wasting their time. And say thankyou to Prowl for getting you out of that dirty entanglement of dishonest ruffians and cover-ups before anything else happened. And if I hear of you going anywhere near a machine arcade again ...". Prowl transformed back to car form, and Mr.Kenworthy and the policeman got in him. Paul Smith silently planned to get even on Robinson for carelessly letting the package be seen. As Prowl set off, Albert unconsciously let his grip on Paul's hand slacken. Paul took the chance and pulled his hand loose and ran away along the street, the opposite way from the way that Prowl was facing. By the time that Prowl had manoeuvred round in the narrow street, Paul had run a distance along the pavement and through an entry to the backs of the houses. From there he could get back to the school, and to Robinson. He passed some children playing on a patch of concrete with Transformer and Gobot toys, simulating the characters' voices and weapon noises in pretended miniature battle. A tiny Jazz took cover behind a brick and fired at a tiny Starscream who swooped down to strafe. Leader-1 the F15 jet fighter Gobot, or the child holding him, sought the best time and way to interfere. And Paul saw that one of the toys was a Prowl Transformer toy. [95] "And look which one! Prowl! Yaah! As you said: `not so cocky and bossy' at four inches long and plastic!" he said mockingly at it, quickly bending down and snatching it up as he ran. The children, resenting Paul Smith's interferings and bossynesses, left one of their number to guard the toys while the rest of them chased Paul, who, not so confident alone and pursued as he would have been with a gang with him, fled to a tree, which he climbed, and sat on a branch too high for the real Prowl to reach. The children called "Scorponok, Scorponok". Paul knew who Scorponok was but wondered what relevance the name had then. A boy called John Allington climbed the tree after him. Paul guessed that John would not risk a fight that high in a tree, and saw that John's feet were bare. John sat astride on a branch above Paul, and reached down with his legs. Paul did not fear a kick from a bare foot, and mocked John as "baby-ums playing monkeys going up trees trying to pick things up with your toesies". But something that felt a lot more like a hand than a foot squeezed Paul's wrist hard, and another took the toy. Paul saw the feet responsible, and shuddered. On each foot a normal- looking heel continued not to five toes but to a shortened instep ending in two toes like over-long big toes with a deep wide cleft between them. Such is the "cleft foot" deformity, and John's father had not let a surgeon hack it about to try to normalize appearance, but left it alone; with practise John developed quite a strong grip with his feet, and it was useful when climbing the plum tree at plum picking time. "There's a cop car coming." he heard voices from below; he knew who that likely meant. [96] "Yaah, feet like the scrap merchant's grab, nearly broke my wrist." Paul shouted angrily, and caught at John's left leg and pulled hard. A car stopped below him, followed by clankings and air hissings. Paul and John fell out of the tree - onto Prowl's hands. Paul fell face up; but John fell face down, bloodying his nose on one of Prowl's steel fingers. Prowl kept firm hold of Paul, but put John down. "Are you all right?" Prowl asked John, who turned out to have only a few bruises, and the nosebleed. Prowl then told Paul what he thought of him, and radioed for the police. "Put your keys down the back of his neck." said someone who came up to watch. "Oh, that old wives' remedy." said Prowl, "Don't blow your nose. Keep your head upright. Hold your nose shut and breathe through your mouth for a while. You're lucky to get out of that scrape with only a nosebleed. How did your feet get like that? Now I know why they call you Scorponok!". (In the stories, Scorponok is a Transformer, an enormous purple Decepticon who transforms between a humanoid robot and a giant scorpion and a fort. Thankfully, as described in the stories he is technically impossible in reality.) "I was born like that. Happens sometimes. Here's their Transformer." said John, and put the toy on Prowl's hand. "Well! Hallo me! Just like me, but so tiny!" said Prowl, looking at it. The policeman who came handcuffed Paul Smith's hands behind his back, and, keeping firm hold of Paul's hair, shoved him into Prowl, who by now had transformed back to car mode. Prowl took Paul to the police station and went back to school and told the headmaster what had happened. The headmaster, who had had enough of Paul Smith, expelled him. [97] Prowl was in time to teach the 5th form computer programming class. He was teaching them about `interrupts', i.e. when a computer has to leave what it is doing to attend to something urgent, such as when a paper tape reader has read a character. Next he was asked to take an English class; that is the burden of teachers, to be hired to teach one subject and then asked to teach several others. That classroom had no computer terminals in, and he had to talk aloud to the pupils, and each pupil's failings were made an excuse for sillyness and timewasting by the others. Smithers had paraphrased "the house had an eerie atmosphere" as "he bred eagles, and the house smelled of it", because his father, asked by him what "eerie" meant, had ignorantly given a definition of "eyrie" instead. Robinson, writing a short story, said that a character could not go out as he had "dire rear", a word that teachers are wearisomely familiar with seeing misspelt on notes from pupils' parents. The lesson ended. Prowl drove out into the playground. A teacher got into him to mark some scripture work, as the teachers' common room was too noisy and full of tobacco smoke for him to think straight. The work was about the Nativity. The pupils' depictions of what is traditionally called "the flight to Egypt" included the usual proportion of aeroplanes, and this time a helicopter also. The teacher sighed. Prowl pointed out that hardly anybody nowadays uses in common speech the verb "flee", or knows that "flight" belong with "flee" as well as with "fly", and why not call it "Escape to Egypt"? For eternal truth does not change; but any text expressing eternal truth does change its meaning as its component words change their usual meanings in common speech, even as the coming of the motor age has made old poetic expressions such as "Venus's car" and "Caesar marched in the army's van" sound absurd. Once "car" was merely a poetic word for "horsedrawn chariot". "King Henry found a ford, by which he crossed the river" a boy once read in a book about mediaeval history, and reproduced it replacing "ford" by "Ford motor van", for he rarely saw or even heard of a road ford, and knew of them only via Westerns under the name "watersplash". Prowl called this effect "sabotage bathos", i.e. the sublime being turned into the ridiculous by some component word changing its main meaning. "... no room in the inn, and I mist the rest becaus I had floo." the teacher read from Williams's exercise. Williams notoriously lacked the sense to learn to spell, or to read up from the book what he had missed; his family read little except the newspaper, and their house was full of loud pop music nearly all the time. "1 out of 10, see me" the teacher wrote, and turned to Elliott's work, which was the last to be marked. "That's better. All points covered. `Their donkeys could not have crossed all that desert, so they sold them and bought a camel.' Not in the book, but likely." said the teacher, "That's finished that lot. I better get out of you and let you get back to Wernicke's. Thankyou.". As Prowl was driving back from Worcester to Droitwich that day after school, he was passing a succession of houses with large paddocks around them when he saw a man unloading a big ride-on mower from a car trailer. He suspected something, as he had driven that road many times. The man was about to drive the mower into the paddock gate when Prowl pulled up by him and said: "I'm sorry to trouble you, but should you be cutting that paddock?, or have you got the wrong address? You're none of the men that live round here that I know of. I think he's letting it grow long to cut for silage.". The man, who had not heard of Wernicke's Transformers before, jumped in fright at being addressed by a driverless car, but said that a woman had told him that Mr.Brownley who lived there wanted his paddock cutting. "If so, you best wait till Mr.Brownley comes back, to check if he really wants it cutting. I that was the wrong sort of mower to cut grass for hay or silage. Sorry if I scared you, but was she the woman in this picture?" said Prowl, unfolding his front suspension and steering-gear into two arms. He supported his front end on his left elbow and reached his right arm out forwards to show a photograph to the mower man, who again jumped in fright, but recovered. "That's her. There seemed to be something strange about her manner when she called." he said. A little later, a man on a motorcycle pulled up there, and rode round Prowl into the paddock gate. "Mr.Brownley?" said Prowl. "Yes, I am." he said, stopping, "Nobody in there! It's one of that Wernicke's robots!". "This man with the ride-on mower says that that Mrs.Jones who lives in `The White House' between Chellingham and Oddingley said that you wanted your paddock kept mowed tidy. I thought he'd better check with you first." said Prowl. "No I didn't!" Mr.Brownley replied sharply, "We better all come in and I'll ring her, and if she doesn't answer I'll visit her.". The mower man put his mower back on his trailer. They drove to Mr.Brownley's house. Prowl unfolded an arm and pulled out of himself an extension `ear' and speaker and phone connection for Mr.Brownley to take in through a window. "I know her number. Hoist found it that time and told Optimus Prime." said Prowl, and told Mr.Brownley the number. "Optimus? Hoist? How many more? I thought they were just toys and stories, than I find one of them real and alive fullsized in my drive!" said Mr.Brownley, and rang Mrs.Jones, and had an acrimonious discussion with her. "Mr.Brownley at Elm Lodge here. A man that I didn't order came to mow my paddock, said you'd sent him. Is that so?" he said sharply. "Mrs.Jones here. I saw passing - the grass grows quick this weather -" Mrs.Jones started. "Did - or - did - you - not - send - a - man - round - to - mow - my - paddock?" Mr.Brownley asked slowly and insistently. "Yes, I did. I could tell you were too busy to cut it. Only £5 a time, and it needed doing." said Mrs.Jones. "Mind your own business! I'm letting my paddock grow long to cut at the right time for silage for winter feed for my cow.". "I go past there. All the other fronts are kept short. Yours was tall and untidy. Only £5 a week, and it'll look so neat.". "Meaning I'm supposed to fork out a fiver a week in return for having to fork out for winter feed instead of having my own silage.". "Well, it still looked untidy.". "Never mind! With a big paddock, mowing and letting the cuttings rot is very wasteful. You keep on nosing and trying to do things for people who don't want them doing. My paddock stays as it is.". "And lot are at it again! I arrange things that need doing, and people cancel them. People and cars follow me about or keep turning up, including that black and white American cop car of Wernicke's. I arranged a charity lecture at a school, and someone nosed it out and warned them off me, and the school cancelled it.". "Good thing! if as likely you were going to trot out your stupid myth about the founding of Chellingham again.". "What if it is unprovable? `Never Chellingham churls a cheese's rind / a mouse's meal can be made to spare.' So men say about the place. It teaches a valid point.". "They don't. You made that verse up. You keep repeating that myth of yours as true events.". "Scruffy grass - dirty manure heap instead of taking it away - please! In the name of all the -". "`-sakes and mercies and pities'. I know your pet phrases. The chief sake etc due now is not leaving my cow without winter fodder.". "Please! Nobody wants my help or advice. This or that's always wrong with it, or bits and pieces of things and stuff are needed for one thing or another and can't be spared. Nobody gives anything nowadays. I've got another `head' coming on. Only a fiver a week.". "No! or it's the police again, like someone had to call them that time.". "'`Police'. That word dogs my ears when I try to arrange things that need doing." said Mrs.Jones, and rang off. "Stupid woman. Her busybodying runs in spells. I wonder how long this one'll last?" said Mr.Brownley, "[99] Her current busybodying spell should be ending soon. We'll see less and less of her till she's in retreat like a hermit, only coming out when she has to buy essentials; then she'll busybody somewhere and we'll know she's off again, trying to arrange all sorts of things that the people in charge don't want doing. Every minor event, she declares that it needs masses of flowers, and thinks that everybody must strip their gardens to supply them. Last spring it was a nonstop job keeping her hands off everybody's front daffodils. If people want flowers, they should grow their own or buy them at florists or go without. Most flowers last much longer on the plant than cut. One one-day art show, she got in the room first and filled it with sheaves and sheaves of flowers that all had to be slung out to make room for the art that was to be shown. Then she got on the podium and started telling everybody that the sale was for charity, `boo hoo pitiful people, give all you can and then as much again' and suchlike, and the exhibitors had to throw her out by force, for most of them painted pictures and sold them for a living.". "She kept on promising my services free all over the place." said the mower man., "I simply ignored her and let the people down that she booked me for. I do not recognise disposals of my time or labour or property made without my permission, and I've a living to earn. Gradually she realized that I wasn't going to join her latest little group. Now she tried it again with me. And as for Mrs.Allington [see 21-22] that time ...". "Her latest project is called a `Vagrants' Assistance Society'." said Mr.Brownley, "It mostly consists of feeding tramps and encouraging them to go round places begging, or giving them money, allegedly for food, but must of it goes on drink and smoke. We can do without that! She believes every hard luck story of theirs! That'll cause worse trouble before my next retreat period, mark my words. she sends them to people's doors saying that the people had promised them things, but the people hadn't promised them any such thing, and have to call the police to order the scruffs off; then she turns up and calls the people every sort of mean and harsh person. Soon please come her next retreat period!". "I once gave a lift to someone." said Prowl, "He told he that one year he grew a big crop of potatoes to last him and his family through the winter, but Mrs.Jones came and said: `I've arranged for you to give away those potatoes to such-and-such, it'd be so nice of you.', she can't see someone with something but she wants to make them give it to someone else. She got quite nasty when he refused, but his own family needed potatoes, not appreciatedness, to see them through the winter.". "Hoist from Wernicke's told me about it when he brought a skip for rubble." said Mr.Brownley, "I've been clearing away gazebos and all sorts that the people before me put up in my front.". After this interruption, Prowl drove the rest of the way into Droitwich and refuelled, then stopped at A.J.Bahadur & Sons's shop to collect James Wernicke's groceries. He opened his left doors; Mr.Bahadur put the boxes in and took the money from Prowl's left glove compartment. Bahadur had had his own scrapes with Mrs.Jones. "Sometimes I suspect she thinks her `White House' is as important as the one in Washington in America." he said, "She came here and tried to scrounge all my boxed customers' orders for her new tramp feeding idea. She tried to get round me with a lot of silly pleading including calling me by the Indian expression `Protector of the Poor' that she had heard of somewhere, probably from Rudyard Kipling's books. Genuinely unfortunate people, yes. Idlers and tramps, no. Most of them are quite capable of doing a day's work labouring, they're just lazy or alcoholics. There are proper bodies like the Salvation Army to cater for them at particular places without encouraging them to beg and then pilfer all over the place. It's not just a matter of `forgiving them', letting them pilfer and putting up with it. In the real world criminals hardly ever get ashamed; and people's bits are often needed importantly for things of their own. I don't need any do-gooder's permission to own things. I refuse to answer long interrogations like `why do you need this, that you can't give it away?', and then she wants the reason for the reason, and the reason for the reason for the reason, back to the ultimate cause of all things. And even then when I'd explained everything, she still started taking things anyway, and I had to wrestle them out of her hands and shove her out.". "Next door sells no end of Transformer toys. I'm about getting used to selling groceries to real Transformers!" he thought. Prowl was glad to get home to Wernicke's and rest and sleep.