Rivets and Sprockets Read Free Page A

before—and I can’t think when my circuits ache. Let me fix your looth—loose—screw.”
    He had just tightened the screw, and oiled Rivets’ tongue and his own, when Mrs. Bailey and Jim came into the room. Jim had some fresh ice packs in his hand, and Mrs. Bailey carried a large box of learning tapes.
    She wiped a tear from her eye, and said, “The robot factory can’t send for you until tomorrow, and that may give us time if we work fast.”
    â€œTime for what, ma’am?” Sprockets blinked at the learning tapes. The very sight of them made his circuits squirm.
    â€œTime to be superly-superly educated,” said Mrs. Bailey. “When the doctor sees you again—and I’ll make sure that he does—I want you both to be wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, and simply popping with knowledge. Then he’ll have to change his mind and decide to keep you—that is, if you can think of some way to beat the Mongolians.”
    â€œB-but, ma’am—”
    â€œNo buts. You’ve only been half educated in a few onomies and ologies. I’m going to give you stacks more, and include some otomies and istics.”
    â€œOh–no–no–no–no–no—”
    There was absolutely nothing, aside from being returned to the robot factory, that Sprockets and Rivets hated more than to have learning tapes run through their heads. The thought of it now, with their poor heads splitting, was enough to give them spasms.
    But it was either that or the robot factory; and in three ticks and a double tock they were sitting on their stools, and Mrs. Bailey had turned on their learning buttons and inserted a learning tape in the slot in the back of each robot’s head.
    â€œLet’s see,” said Mrs. Bailey, “linguistics would help a lot, as would statistics and ballistics. As for the otomies, there’s lobotomy, pneumotomy, monotomy—oh, dear, this is making me abbled! I don’t know why they don’t make a single tape for all the otomies, then I wouldn’t have to worry about them.”
    Neither of the robots could hear her, for new knowledge was screaming through their aching circuits, making them sizzle like frying fish. It was bad enough for Rivets, whose circuits were limited; but for poor Sprockets, who had twenty trillion to sizzle, all at the same time, it was absolutely horrendous. Their heads were blistering, but Jim put fresh ice packs on them whenever Mrs. Bailey put new tapes in their slots. When they finally stiffened from so much education, and passed out completely, they had to be turned off and put to bed.
    It seemed ages and ages before they were turned on and began to tick again.
    â€œDo you feel wide-eyed and bushy-tailed now?” Mrs. Bailey asked hopefully.
    â€œI feel wonnerful, ma’am!” said Rivets, bouncing to his feet, his loose screw only slightly loose. “I bet I can count to a hundert!”
    But poor Sprockets could hardly sit up. “I feel practically fused, ma’am. It must be remembered that my mechanism is far more sensitive and complicated than my brother’s, and that it has taken an awful walloping. It will be fourteen hours and eighteen seconds before I can click properly again.”
    â€œBut, Sprockets!” Jim burst out. “The truck from the robot factory will be here before that! What are we going to do?”
    â€œWould it help if you turned on your cerebration button?” Mrs. Bailey asked.
    â€œI wouldn’t dare, ” said Sprockets. “Then I’d really be fused.”
    Mrs. Bailey wiped a tear from her eye. “We can’t have you any more abbled than you are. Can’t anyone think of anything?”
    Rivets said: “Ma’am, my bwain’s only themi-pothitwonic, but I bet if it could be hooked up to Spwockets, we’d have a whole bwain between us. Then mebbe we could fink what to do.”
    Jim said, “Would it work,