suppose I'll get married, some day--most girls do--but it'll be to
somebody who can hang his business up at the office before he comes
home. Russ Latterman is so married to the store that if he married me
too, it'd be bigamy. Ready for your coffee?" Without waiting for an
answer, she filled his cup and ejected a lighted cigarette from the
box for him, then snapped on the video screen.

It lit at once, and a nondescriptly handsome young man was grinning
toothily out of it. He wore a white smock, halfway to his knees, and,
over it, an old-fashioned Sam Browne belt which supported a bulky
leather-covered tablet and a large stylus. On the strap which crossed
his breast five or six little metal badges twinkled.

"... Why no other beer can compare with delicious, tangy, Cardon's
Black Bottle. Won't you try it?" he pleaded. "Then you will see for
yourself why millions of happy drinkers always Call For Cardon's. And
now, that other favorite of millions, Literate First Class Elliot C.
Mongery."

Pelton muttered: "Why Frank sponsors that blabbermouth of a Mongery--"

Ray, sliding back onto the bench, returned to his food.

"Jimmy's book had pictures," he complained, forking up another mixture
of eggs, bacon, toast and honey.

"Book?" Claire echoed. "Oh, the instructions for the 'copter?"

"Pipe down, both of you!" Pelton commanded. "The newscast--"