6

XIX TAPED FOR TROUBLE 194

XX JANIG CLOSES IN 202

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THE ELECTRONIC MIND READER

CHAPTER I

The Million-Dollar Gimmick

Rick Brant stretched luxuriously and slid down to a half-reclining,
half-sitting position in his dad's favorite library armchair. He
called, "Barby! Hurry up!"

Don Scott looked up from his adjustment of the television picture.
"What's the rush? The show hasn't started yet."

Rick explained, "She likes the commercials."

A moment later Barbara Brant appeared in the doorway, hastily
finishing a doughnut. Rick cocked an eyebrow at her. "If you're going
to eat, you might at least bring a plateful, so we can have some,
too."

Barby gulped. "Sorry. I didn't intend to have a doughnut. I went to
the kitchen to see if Mom and Dad wanted to watch the show, and they
were having doughnuts and milk."

"Never mind," Scotty said. "We forgive you. We'll get ours later. Are
Mom and Dad coming?"

"Maybe later. Now be quiet, please, so I can hear the commercial."

Dismal, the Brant pup, wandered in and paused at Rick's chair to have
his ears scratched before taking up his favorite position, under the
TV table. Rick obliged and the shaggy pup groaned with pleasure.

"Why all the interest in a breakfast-food commercial?" Scotty asked.

"The announcer is cute," Barby stated.

This made no sense to Scotty. He stretched out on the rug in front of
the set, then rolled over on his back and looked up at the girl. "I
don't get it. Then why do you eat Crummies for breakfast instead of
the hay this guy sells?"

"The Crummies announcer is cuter," Barby explained patiently.

The boys grinned and fell silent as the cereal salesman went into his
spiel. Barby perched on the edge of a chair and listened attentively.

Rick watched his sister's expressive face, chuckling to himself. Barby
always listened to the commercials. It was only fair, she insisted,
and the boys went along with her wishes. Come right down to it, Rick
thought, listening to commercials was the price that had to be paid
for entertainment. Not listening meant not paying the price. He didn't
think that the point was particularly important, but there was a small
element of justice in Barby's view.

Their Sunday evenings on Spindrift, the private island off the New
Jersey coast, usually ended with this particular program. The members
of the