“Well, Duffy?” He kissed her casually. She was as shapely as a sales-curve, pretty, but a trifle too young.

“Well, Mr. Reich?” She looked at him oddly. “Some day I’m going to hire one of those Lonely-Heart Peepers to case your kiss. I keep thinking you don’t mean business.”

“I don’t.”

“Dog.”

“A man has to make up his mind early, Duffy. If he kisses girls he kisses his money goodbye.”

“You kiss me.”

“Only because you’re the image of the lady on the credit.”

“Pip,” she said.

“Pop,” he said.

“Bim,” she said.

“Bam,” he said.

“I’d like to kill the bem who invented that fad,” Duffy said darkly. “All right, handsome. What’s your problem?”

“Gambling,” Reich said. “Ellery West, my Rec director, is complaining about the gambling in Monarch. Says there’s too much. Personally I don’t care.”

“Keep a man in debt and he’s afraid to ask for a raise.”

“You’re entirely too smart, young lady.”

“So you want a no-gamble-type song?”

“Something like that. Catchy. Not too obvious. More a delayed action than a straight propaganda tune. I’d like the conditioning to be more or less unconscious.”

Duffy nodded and made quick notes.

“And make it a tune worth hearing. I’ll have to listen to God knows how many people singing and whistling and humming it.”

“You louse. All my tunes are worth hearing.”

“Once.”

“That’s a thousand extra on your tab.”

Reich laughed. “Speaking of monotony…” he continued smoothly.

“Which we weren’t.”

“What’s the most persistent tune you ever wrote?”

“Persistent?”

“You know what I mean. Like those advertising jingles you can’t get out of your head.”

“Oh. Pepsis, we call ’em.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. They say because the first one was written centuries ago by a character named Pepsi. I don’t buy that. I wrote one once…” Duffy winced in recollection. “Hate to think of it even now. Guaranteed to obsess you for a month. It haunted me for a year.”

“You’re rocketting.”

“Scout’s honor, Mr. Reich. It was ‘Tenser, Said The Tensor.’ I wrote it for that flop show about the crazy mathematician. They wanted nuisance value and they sure got it. People got so sore they had to withdraw it. Lost a fortune.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Come on, Duffy. I’m really curious.”

“You’ll regret it”

“I don’t believe you.”

“All right, pig,” she said, and pulled the punch panel toward her. “This pays you back for that no-guts kiss.”

Her fingers and palm slipped gracefully over the panel. A tune of utter monotony filled the room with agonizing, unforgettable banality. It was the quintessence of every melodic cliche Reich had ever heard. No matter what melody you tried to remember, it invariably led down the path of familiarity to “Tenser, Said The Tensor.” Then Duffy began to sing:

Eight, sir; seven, sir;

Six, sir; five, sir;

Four, sir; three, sir;

Two, sir; one!

Tenser, said the Tensor.

Tenser, said the Tensor.

Tension, apprehension,

And dissension have begun.

“Oh my God!” Reich exclaimed.