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."
"Plenty of time."
"But I want to learn now."
Weemsby started to cloud, then smiled and shrugged. "Thor, you have your mother's stubbornness. All right. I'll order a suite for you at the main office in Rudbek City -- and staff it with people to help you. But I warn you, it won't be fun. Nobody owns a business; the business owns him. You're a slave to it."
"Well . . . I ought to try."
"Commendable spirit." The phone by Weemsby's cup blinked; he picked it up, frowned, said, "Hold on." He turned to Thorby. "That idiot can't find those papers."
"I meant to tell you. I hid them -- I didn't want to leave them out."
"I see. Where are they?"
"Uh, I'll have to dig them out"
Weemsby said in the phone, "Forget it" He tossed the phone to a servant and said to Thorby, "Then fetch them, if you don't mind."
Thorby did mind. So far he had had four bites; it annoyed him to be told to run an errand while eating. Besides . . . was he "Rudbek of Rudbek"? or still messenger for the weapons officer? "I'll be going up after breakfast."
Uncle Jack looked vexed. But he answered, "I beg your pardon. If you can't tear yourself away, would you please tell me where to find them? I have a hard day ahead and I would like to dispose of this triviality and go to work. If you don't mind."
Thorby wiped his mouth. "I would rather not," he said slowly, "sign them now
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