Sir glanced up at Andrew, who was standing quietly in the shadows to one side. "Do you hear that, Andrew? You're famous all up and down California. -But you're wrong about one thing, John. Andrew isn't simply a master craftsman. He's an out-and-out artist, nothing less."
"Indeed he is," Feingold said. "That's the only word for him. This is a wonderful piece."
"Would you like to own it?" Sir asked.
Feingold's eyes widened in surprise. " Are you offering it to me, Gerald?"
"I might be. It all depends on how much you'd be willing to pay for it."
Feingold grunted as though Sir had poked him in the ribs with a rigid finger. He sat back sharply, rearranging himself with some care, and for a moment he did not reply.
Then he said, in an entirely different voice, "I hadn't been aware that you've been undergoing financial reverses lately, Gerald."
"I haven't."
"Then-pardon me if I sound a little confused-why on Earth would you want to-"
His voice trailed off.
"Sell you that little carving?" Sir finished for him.
"Yes. Sell it. I know you've been giving away a great many of the things that Andrew has made. People have told me that it's practically impossible to come here without being offered something. I've seen a few of the things that they've been given. There's never been a question of money changing hands, am I right? And now-completely leaving out of the discussion the fact that I'm not a collector of little wooden carvings, no matter how lovely they might be-you baffle me by asking me if I want to purchase one! Why? I doubt very much that you have any special reason for wanting me to pay for what everybody else gets free. And you can't possibly need the money. You've just told me that yourself. In any event how much would you be able to get for an object like this? Five hundred dollars? A thousand? If you're still as wealthy as I know you to be, Gerald, what difference could the odd five hundred or thousand make to you?"
"Not to me. To Andrew."
"What?"
"Your estimate happens to be right on the mark, John. I think I could get a thousand for this little thing. And I've been offered rather more than that for chairs and desks that Andrew has made. Not just one-shot purchases but entire distribution deals for large-scale production. If I had accepted any of the offers, there'd be a fine fat bank account built up by now, entirely on the proceeds of Andrew's woodworking-something up in the hundreds of thousands already, I suspect."
Feingold fussed with his epaulets and collar-studs. "Good heavens, Gerald, I can't make any sense out of any of this. A rich man making himself richer by putting his robot to work in some sort of cottage industry-"
"I've already told you, John, that the money wouldn't be for me. This is all for Andrew's sake. I want to start selling his products and I want the money to be banked under the name of Andrew Martin."
"A bank account in the name of a robot?"
"Exactly. And that's why I've asked you to come up here today. I want to know whether it would be legal to establish an account in Andrew's name-an account that Andrew himself would control, you understand, entirely his own money, which he would be able to use absolutely as he pleases-"
Feingold said, sounding mystified, "Legal? For a robot to earn and save money? I just couldn't say. There are no precedents, so far as I've ever heard. I doubt that there's any law against it, but even so-robots aren't people. How can they have bank accounts, then?"
"Corporations aren't people either, except in the most abstract sense: a legal fiction, as you would term it. Yet corporations have bank accounts."
"Well, I grant you that. But corporations have been recognized in the eyes of the law for centuries as entities qualified to own property of all sorts. Robots, Gerald, have no legal rights at all, as surely you must be aware. And simply as a procedural matter, let me remind you that corporations also have corporate officers, and they sign the papers that establish the bank accounts. Who would open Andrew's account? You? And would it be Andrew's account, if you opened it?"
"I've opened bank accounts in the names of my children," Sir replied. "Nevertheless the accounts are theirs. Besides, Andrew can sign his name as well as you or I."
"Yes. Yes, of course, I suppose he can." Feingold leaned back until his chair creaked. "Let me think, Gerald. This is all so unusual. Is there really any legislation specifically forbidding robots to own property, or is it simply assumed that they can't, because the idea is so far from the main stream that nobody's ever given a thought to it? I'd have to research it before I could give you an opinion. Quite possibly there are no such laws, precisely because a robot having assets is such a peculiar notion that it hasn't been deemed necessary to give it any consideration. Nobody has bothered to pass laws forbidding trees to have bank accounts, after all, or lawnmowers-"
"Cats and dogs have had bank accounts. Trust funds for their upkeep, left to them by their loving owners," Sir said. "The courts have no objection to that."
"Another good point, yes. Although cats and dogs are living creatures, at least. Robots are inanimate."
"I don't see what difference that makes."
"You ought to bear in mind, Gerald, that there's a certain prejudice against robots in our society, a certain fear, I might almost say, that doesn't extend to cats and dogs. It might well be that someone has put laws on the books restricting the rights of robots to hold property. But that's easily enough checked. -Let's assume that it is legal. How would you go about it? Take Andrew down to the bank and let him speak to the manager?"