There are many epigrams  attributed to Hardin ?a confirmed epigrammatist ?
a good many of  which are probably apocryphal. Nevertheless, it is reportedthat on a certain occasion, he said:
"It pays to be  obvious, especially if you have a reputation for subtlety."Poly Verisof  had had occasion to act on that advice  more than once for hewas now in the  fourteenth year of his double status on Anacreon ?a doublestatus the  upkeep of which reminded him often  and unpleasantly of a danceperformed barefoot on hot metal.
To  the people  of  Anacreon he  was  high priest,  representative of  thatFoundation which,  to those "barbarians,"  was the acme of  mystery and thephysical center of this religion they had created ?with Hardin's help ?inthe  last three  decades. As  such, he  received a  homage that  had becomehorribly wearying, for from his soul he despised the ritual of which he wasthe center.
But to  the King  of Anacreon ? the old one  that had been,  and the younggrandson that  was now  on the throne ? he was simply the  ambassador of apower at once feared and coveted.
On  the whole,  it  was an  uncomfortable job,  and his  first trip  to theFoundation in three years, despite the disturbing incident that had made itnecessary, was something in the nature of a holiday.
And  since it  was not  the first  time he  had had  to travel  in absolutesecrecy, he again made  use of Hardin's epigram on the uses of the obvious.
He changed into his  civilian clothes ?a holiday in itself ?and boarded apassenger  liner to  the  Foundation, second  class. Once  at  Terminus, hethreaded his way through the crowd at the spaceport and called up City Hallat a public visiphone.
He said,  "My name is Jan Smite. I have an  appointment with the mayor thisafternoon."The dead-voiced  but efficient  young lady at  the other end  made a secondconnection and  exchanged a few rapid  words, then said to  Verisof in dry,mechanical tone, "Mayor Hardin  will see you in half an hour, sir," and thescreen went blank.
Whereupon  the ambassador  to  Anacreon bought  the latest  edition  of theTerminus City  Journal, sauntered casually to  City Hall Park and, sitting.
down on  the first empty bench  he came to, read  the editorial page, sportsection  and comic  sheet while  waiting. At  the end  of half an  hour, hetucked the paper under  his arm, entered City Hall and presented himself inthe anteroom.
In doing all this he remained safely and thoroughly unrecognized, for sincehe   was  so   entirely   obvious,  no   one  gave   him  a   second  look.
Hardin  looked up at  him and grinned.  "Have a  cigar! How was  the trip?"Verisof helped himself. "Interesting.  There was a priest in the next cabinon his way here  to take a special course in the preparation of radioactivesynthetics ?for the treatment of cancer, you know ?
"Surely, he didn't call it radioactive synthetics, now?""I guess not! It was the Holy Food to him."The mayor smiled. "Go on.""He inveigled  me into a theological  discussion and did his  level best toelevate me out of sordid materialism.""And never recognized his own high priest?""Without my crimson robe? Besides, he was a Smyrnian. It was an interestingexperience, though.  It is remarkable, Hardin,  how the religion of sciencehas grabbed  hold. I've written an  essay on the subject  ?entirely for myown amusement;  it wouldn't do  to have it published.  Treating the problemsociologically, it would seem  that when the old Empire began to rot at thefringes, it  could be considered  that science, as science,  had failed theouter worlds.  To be reaccepted it would have  to present itself in anotherguise   and  it   has   done  just   that.  It   works   out  beautifully.""Interesting!" The mayor placed his arms around his neck and said suddenly,"Start talking about the situation at Anacreon!"The ambassador frowned and  withdrew the cigar from his mouth. He looked atit   distastefully   and   put   it   down.  "Well,   it's   pretty   bad.""You wouldn't be here, otherwise.""Scarcely.  Here's the  position.  The key  man at  Anacreon is  the PrinceRegent, Wienis. He's King Lepold's uncle.""I know.  But Lepold is coming of age next year,  isn't he? I believe he'llbe sixteen in February.""Yes." Pause, and then a wry addition. "If he lives. The king's father diedunder suspicious circumstances. A  needle bullet through the chest during ahunt. It was called an accident.""Hmph. I seem to remember Wienis the time I was on Anacreon, when we kickedthem off  Terminus. It was before your time. Let's  see now. If I remember,he was  a dark young fellow,  black hair and a squint  in his right eye. Hehad a funny hook in his nose.""Same fellow. The hook  and the squint are still there, but his hair's graynow. He plays the  game dirty. Luckily, he's the most egregious fool on theplanet. Fancies  himself as a shrewd devil, too,  which mades his folly themore transparent.""That's usually the way.""His notion  of cracking an egg is to shoot a  nuclear blast at it. Witnessthe tax on Temple  property he tried to impose just after the old king diedtwo years ago. Remember?"Hardin  nodded  thoughtfully, then  smiled.  "The priests  raised a  howl.""They raised one you could hear way out to Lucreza. He's shown more cautionin dealing with the priesthood since, but he still manages to do things thehard  way.   In  a  way,   it's  unfortunate  for  us;   he  has  unlimitedself-confidence.""Probably an over-compensated inferiority  complex. Younger sons of royaltyget that way, you know.""But it amounts to the same thing. He's foaming at the mouth with eagernessto attack the Foundation. He scarcely troubles to conceal it. And he's in aposition to do it, too, from the standpoint of armament. The old king builtup a magnificent navy,  and Wienis hasn't been sleeping the last two years.
In fact,  the tax  on Temple property  was originally intended  for furtherarmament, and  when that fell  through he increased the  income tax twice.""Any grumbling at that?""None of serious importance.  Obedience to appointed authority was the textof  every sermon  in  the kingdom  for weeks.  Not  that Wienis  showed anygratitude.""All   right.   I've   got    the   background.   Now   what's   happened?""Two weeks  ago an Anacreonian merchant ship  came across a derelict battlecruiser of  the old Imperial Navy. It must have  been drifting in space forat least three centuries."Interest flickered  in Hardin's eyes. He sat up.  "Yes, I've heard of that.
The Board of Navigation has sent me a petition asking me to obtain the shipfor  purposes   of  study.   It  is  in  good   condition,  I  understand.""In entirely  too good  condition," responded Verisof,  dryly. "When Wienisreceived  your suggestion  last  week that  he turn  the  ship over  to theFoundation, he almost had convulsions.""He hasn't answered yet.""He won't  ?except with guns,  or so he thinks. You see,  he came to me onthe day  I left Anacreon and requested that  the Foundation put this battlecruiser into  fighting order and turn  it over to the  Anacreonian navy. Hehad the  infernal gall to say that your note of  last week indicated a planof the Foundation's to  attack Anacreon. He said that refusal to repair thebattle cruiser  would confirm  his suspicions; and  indicated that measuresfor the  self-defense of Anacreon would  be forced upon him.  Those are hiswords. Forced upon him! And that's why I'm here."Hardin laughed gently.
Verisof  smiled and  continued, "Of  course, he  expects a refusal,  and itwould  be  a  perfect  excuse  ? in  his  eyes ? for  immediate  attack.""I see  that, Verisof. Well, we have at least six  months to spare, so havethe ship  fixed up and present it with my  compliments. Have it renamed theWienis as a mark of our esteem and affection."He laughed ag............