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which many times had come in handy.
    "It has to do with the entertainment tomorrow night," Sandy explained.
    Bashalli continued, "You do remember, to raise money for the hospital?" Tom nodded. He recalled that the girls were on the fund committee. "Well, our best act has been washed out—washed down, that is. We’ve got to substitute something in a hurry. It’s against the rules to engage a professional—only amateurs can be in it."
    Tom gave the girls a look of mock horror. "You’re not hinting that I become a song-and-dance man, I hope!"
    Sandy winced. "Please, big brother—what I’ve heard echoing from behind the shower curtain is not singing!"
    Bash laughed. "Not you, Thomas, but your new wonderful robot," she replied.
    The young inventor stared in disbelief. "What! Bash, that would be a major operation! It would take hours and hours of—"
    "Tom," Mrs. Swift spoke up, "is what the girls are asking an impossibility?"
    "No, but—"
    "If you worked at it today and tomorrow after hours, with Bud and others helping, you could do it?"
    "Yes, Mother. But—"
    "Then I want you to do it," Mrs. Swift said softly but firmly. "So far as I know, you’ve never used your scientific talents for charitable purposes." She smiled. "Unless saving whole cities could be called working for humanity. Tom, I’d like you to do your share for the show tomorrow night."
    Tom knew he had lost the argument. "All right, Mom. I suppose I can put something together. It might even be a useful test. But I’ll need Sandy’s and Bashalli’s help."
    "Wonderful!" the two girls cried. "When do we start?"
    "Come down to the lab at four tomorrow afternoon. We’ll have the robot prepped by then." Tom picked up a maple-frosted doughnut and sniffed it suspiciously.
    "Do you smell something?" asked Bashalli.
    "Yes," Tom replied. "A set-up!"
    All day and the next morning Tom, Bud, and three engineers combined Tom’s planned work on Robo Boy with the unexpected new project. Bud Barclay, plastered with special sensors that allowed the control computer to register his movements, served as the live model for a sort of crude song and dance routine. Song after song was tried and discarded before the mechanical man’s steps and gestures synchronized with the music. In truth, the problem was less the robot’s lack of ability than Bud’s lack of rhythm!
    In the meantime, modelmaker Arvid Hanson had been working on a makeshift head to render Robo Boy more presentable to an audience. By the time Sandy and Bashalli arrived, the robot appeared as a deadpan, comical-faced creature whose eyes roved from side to side.
    "Meet Herbert," Tom said. "That’s Robo Boy’s stage name." As the girls giggled, the robot bowed stiffly. "I’ll give you a demonstration," the young inventor went on, "then show you just how to work these dials. It’s as simple as running a CD player."
    After some practice, Herbert went through his performance perfectly. "Definitely ready for prime time!" Bud pronounced.
    The four young people had an early supper at the Enterprises plant and at six thirty left for the converted armory in Shopton where the entertainment was to take place.
    The girls had dutifully spread the word, and by eight o’clock the auditorium was packed to overflowing, and the show began. Since the robot performance was to be the last number, Tom and Bud remained behind the scenes, carefully guarding the canvas-covered figure and the control panel until the curtain rang down on the preceding act.
    Then the boys wheeled the robot to the center of the curtained stage and took off the cover. Tom quickly reviewed the instructions for operating Herbert and turned the panel over to the girls. Then he and Bud took their places in the center of the second row in the audience.
    Bud hid a secret smile. He and Hank Sterling, Enterprises’ chief engineer, had covertly made a few additions to the mechanical man’s repertoire. They had rigged up a remote data-disk drive that would cut