Proceeding to the end of the line, the farmer's eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the sand-scoured but still flashy bronze finish of the tall, humanoid Threepio.
"I presume you function," he grumbled at the robot. "Do you know customs and protocol?"
"Do I know protocol?" Threepio echoed as the farmer looked him up and down. Threepio was determined to embarrass the jawa when it came to selling his abilities. "Do I know protocol! Why, it's my primary function. I am also well—"
"Don't need a protocol 'droid," the farmer snapped dryly.
"I don't blame you, sir," Threepio rapidly agreed. "I couldn't be more in agreement. What could be more of a wasteful luxury in a climate like this? For someone of your interests, sir, a protocol 'droid would be a useless waste of money. No, sir—versatility is my middle name. See Vee Threepio—Vee for versatility—at your service. I've been programmed for over thirty secondary functions that require only…"
"I need," the farmer broke in, demonstrating imperious disregard for Threepio's as yet unenumerated secondary functions, "a 'droid that knows something about binary language of independently programmable moisture vaporators."
"Vaporators! We are both in luck," Threepio countered. "My first post- primary assignment was in programming binary load lifters. Very similar in construction and memory-function to your vaporators. You could almost say…"
Luke tapped his uncle on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. His uncle nodded, then looked back at the attentive Threepio again.
"Do you speak Bocce?"
"Of course, sir," Threepio replied, confident for a change with a wholly honest answer. "It's like a second language to me. "I'm as fluent in Bocce as—"
the farmer appeared determined never to allow him to conclude a sentence. "Shut up." Owen Lars looked down at the jawa. "I'll take this one, too."
"Shutting up, sir," responded Threepio quickly, hard put to conceal his glee at being selected.
