“Thank you.”

I asked Godfrey for an orange juice in a beaker for Friday and took Friday out of his stroller and sat with him on a nearby armchair to watch the proceedings.

“Item seventy-six,” said a small man wearing a Goliath-issue cobalt blue suit, “Antarctica. There has been a degree of opposition to our purchase of the continent by a small minority of do-gooders who believe our use is anything but benevolent.”

“And this, Mr. Jarvis, is a problem because . . . ?” demanded John Henry Goliath.

“Not a problem but an observation, sir. I propose that, to offset any possible negative publicity, we let it be known that we merely acquired the continent to generate new ecotourism-related jobs in an area traditionally considered a low point in employment opportunities.”

“It shall be so,” boomed the CEO. “What else?”

“Well, since we will take the role of ‘ecocustodians’ very seriously, I propose sending a fleet of ten warships to protect the continent against vandals who seek to harm the penguin population, illegally remove ice and snow and create general mischief.”

“Warships eat heavily into profit margins,” said another member of the board. But Mr. Jarvis had already thought of that. “Not if we subcontract the security issue to a foreign power eager to do business with us. I have formulated a plan whereby the United Caribbean Nations will patrol the continent in exchange for all the ice and snow they want. With the purchase of Antarctica, we can undercut snow exports from all the countries in the Northern Alliance. Their unsold snow will be bought by us at four pence a ton, melted and exchanged for building sand with Morocco. This will be exported to sand-deficient nations at an overall profit of twelve percent. You’ll find it all in my report.”

There was a murmur of assent around the table. The CEO nodded his head thoughtfully.

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis, your idea finds favor with the board. But tell me, what about the vast natural resource that we bought Antarctica to exploit in the first place?”

Jarvis snapped his fingers, and the elevator doors opened to reveal a chef who wheeled in a trolley with a silver dinner cover. He stopped next to the CEO’s chair, took off the cover and served the CEO a small plate with what looked like sliced pork on it. A footman laid a knife and a fork next to the plate, along with a crisp napkin, then withdrew.

The CEO took a small forkful and put it in his mouth. His eyes opened wide in shock, and he spit it out. The footman passed him a glass of water.

“Disgusting!”

“I agree, sir,” replied Jarvis, “almost completely inedible.”

“Blast! Do you mean to tell me we’ve bought an entire continent with a potential food yield of ten million penguin-units per year only to find we can’t eat any of them?”

“Only a minor setback, sir. If you would all turn to page 72 of your agenda . . .”