had a glass of fruit juice in one hand and was lifting platter covers
with the other.

"Real eggs!" the boy was announcing. "Bacon. Wheat-bread toast." He
looked again. "Hey, Sis, is this real cow-made butter?"

"Yes. Now go ahead and eat."

As though Ray needed encouragement, Chester Pelton thought, watching
his son use a spoon--the biggest one available--to dump gobs of honey
on his toast. While he was helping himself to bacon and eggs, he could
hear Ray's full-mouthed exclamation: "This is real bee-comb honey,
too!" That pleased him. The boy was a true Pelton; only needed one
bite to distinguish between real and synthetic food.

"Bet this breakfast didn't cost a dollar under five C," Ray continued,
a little more audibly, between bites.

[Illustration:]

That was another Pelton trait; even at fifteen, the boy was learning
the value of money. Claire seemed to disapprove, however.

"Oh, Ray; try not to always think of what things cost," she reproved.

"If I had all she spends on natural food, I could have a this-season's
model 'copter-bike, like Jimmy Hartnett," Ray continued.

Pelton frowned. "I don't want you running around with that boy, Ray,"
he said, his mouth full of bacon and eggs. Under his daughter's look