r's ancestry
and personal characteristics, and then bit it off short. I followed
his eyes, and saw old Professor Hartzenbosch, the principal of the
school, approaching.

"Ah, here you are, Mr. Lautier," he greeted. "I trust that I did not
keep you waiting." Then he saw me. "Why, it's Walter Boyd. How is your
father, Walter?"

I assured him as to Dad's health and inquired about his own, and then
asked him how things were going at school. As well as could be
expected, he told me, and I gathered that he kept his point of
expectation safely low. Then he wanted to know if I were going aboard
to interview Mr. Murell.

"Really, Walter, it is a wonderful thing that a famous author like Mr.
Murell should come here to write a book about our planet," he told me,
very seriously, and added, as an afterthought: "Have you any idea
where he intends staying while he is among us?"

"Why, yes," I admitted. "After the _Peenemuende_ radioed us their
passenger list, Dad talked to him by screen, and invited him to stay
with us. Mr. Murell accepted, at least until he can find quarters of
his own."

There are a lot of good poker players in Port Sandor, but Professor
Jan Hartzenbosch is not one of them. The look of disappointment would
have been comical if it hadn't been so utterly pathetic. He'd been
hoping to lasso Murell himself.

"I wonder if Mr. Murell could spare time to come to the school and
speak to the students," he said, after a moment.

"I'm sure he could. I'll mention it to him, Professor," I promised.

Professor Hartzenbosch bridled at that. The great author ought to be
coming to his school out of respect for him, not because a
seventeen-year-old cub reporter sent him. But then, Professor
Hartzenbosch always took the attitude that he was conferring a favor
on the _Times_ when he had anything he wanted publicity on.

The elevator door opened, and Lautier and the professor joined in the
push to get into it. I hung back, deciding to wait for the next one so
that I could get in first and get back to the rear, where my hamper
wouldn't be in people's way. After a while, it came back empty and I
got on, and when the crowd pushed off on the top level, I put my
hamper back on contragravity and towed it out into the outdoor air,
which by this time had gotten almost as cool as a bake-oven.

I looked up at the sky, where everybody else was looking. The
_Peenemuende_ wasn't visible; it was still a few thousand miles
off-planet. Bi