Chapter 7

The Industrialist said, “It’s the workmanship that gets me. I never saw such construction.”

“What good is it now?” said the Astronomer, bitterly. “There’s nothing left. There’ll be no second landing. This ship detected life on our planet through accident. Other exploring parties would come no closer than necessary to establish the fact that there were no super-dense worlds existing in our solar system.”

“Well, there’s no quarreling with a crash landing.”

“The ship hardly seems damaged. If only some had survived, the ship might have been repaired.”

“If they had survived, there would be no trade in any case. They’re too different. Too disturbing. In any case--it’s over.”

They entered the house and the Industrialist greeted his wife calmly. “Lunch about ready, dear.”

“I’m afraid not. You see--” She looked hesitantly at the Astronomer.

“Is anything wrong?” asked the Industrialist. “Why not tell me? I’m sure our guest won’t mind a little family discussion.”

“Pray don’t pay any attention whatever to me,” muttered the Astronomer. He moved miserably to the other end of the living room.

The woman said, in low, hurried tones, “Really, dear, cook’s that upset. I’ve been soothing her for hours and honestly, I don’t know why Red should have done it.”

“Done what?” The Industrialist was more amused than otherwise. It had taken the united efforts of himself and his son months to argue his wife into using the name “Red” rather than the perfectly ridiculous (viewed youngster fashion) name which was his real one.

She said, “He’s taken most of the chopped meat.”

“He’s eaten it?”

“Well, I hope not. It was raw.”

“Then what would he want it for?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. I haven’t seen him since breakfast. Meanwhile cook’s just furious. She caught him vanishing out the kitchen door and there was the bowl of chopped meat just about empty and she was going to use it for lunch. Well, you know cook. She had to change the lunch menu and that means she won’t be worth living with for a week. You’ll just have to speak to Red, dear, and make him promise not to do things in the kitchen any more. And it wouldn’t hurt to have him apologize to cook.”

“Oh, come. She works for us. If we don’t complain about a change in lunch menu, why should she?”

“Because she’s the one who has double-work made for her, and she’s talking about quitting. Good cooks aren’t easy to get. Do you remember the one before her?”

It was a strong argument.

The Industrialist looked about vaguely. He said, “I suppose you’re right. He isn’t here, I suppose. When he comes in, I’ll talk to him.”

“You’d better start. Here he comes.”

Red walked into the house and said cheerfully, “Time for lunch, I guess.” He looked from one parent to the other in quick speculation at their fixed stares and said, “Got to clean up first, though,” and made for the other door.