and he can’t handle a piece of machinery at all. But now I⁠—you see this scar in the middle of my forehead⁠—” he removed his faded hat, “I was struck by lightning on a freight train out in Utah, and I think it multiplied my ‘personal’ electricity potential a lot⁠—maybe millions of times⁠—so machinery just has to do what I want it to, because it wants to do it. You see?”

There was an odd silence; then the chairman spoke. “Old No. 7 started acting up when they built the first uranium pile south of town here, but it really went bad when it was hit by lightning that followed down the ventilation pipe two months ago.”

High-Pockets’ blue eyes opened wide. “Maybe its negative field was reversed by some stray rays from the pile, and then when the lightning hit it, it intensified the field so that the machine is now strongly positive. You know how it is,” he said earnestly. “A body illuminated by ultraviolet light becomes positively charged, and even a hot body becomes positively charged by what they call thermionic emission. Well, that’s okay. A linotype is exactly like a woman. It has a soul⁠—if you know how to reach it.”

Old Arturius snorted so loudly the electric relay on No. 7 made contact and the heating switch came on with a clatter. “You can work on No. 7 tonight,” he said acidly. “Let’s see if it’s got a soul.” He turned on his heel and stamped back to his bench.⁠ ⁠…

It never occurred to High-Pockets to doubt his success with No. 7. He carefully hung his ten-year-old coat in an empty locker and made sure the pint of bourbon was safely in the inside pocket of the coat. Then he walked into the composing-room and over to No. 7, and stood for a moment looking her over. He frowned. “It’s almost as if she was laying her ears back and getting ready to snarl at me,” he said wonderingly.

“She’ll snarl,” said Arturius at his back. “She’ll bite , before the night’s over.”