h and looked at Bish with
something very reasonably like respect.

"That was mighty sharp work," he said. "If you'd been a second slower,
we'd be all out of visiting authors. That would have been a nice
business; story would have gotten back to Terra, and been most
unfortunate publicity for Fenris. And, of course," he afterthoughted,
"most unfortunate for Mr. Murell, too."

"Well, if you give this any publicity, I would rather you passed my
own trifling exploit over in silence," Bish said. "I gather the
spaceport people wouldn't be too happy about giving the public the
impression that their area is teeming with tread-snails, either. They
have enough trouble hiring shipping-floor help as it is."

"But don't you want people to know what you did?" Dad demanded,
incredulously. Everybody wanted their names in print or on 'cast; that
was one of his basic articles of faith. "If the public learned about
this--" he went on, and then saw where he was heading and pulled up
short. It wouldn't be tactful to say something like, "Maybe they
wouldn't think you were just a worthless old soak."

Bish saw where Dad was heading, too, but he just smiled, as though he
were about to confer his episcopal blessing.

"Ah, but that would be a step out of character for me," he said. "I
must not confuse my public. Just as a favor to me, Ralph, say nothing
about it."

"Well, if you'd rather I didn't.... Are you going to cover this
meeting at Hunters' Hall, tonight, Walt?" he asked me.

"Would I miss it?"

He frowned. "I could handle that myself," he said. "I'm afraid this
meeting's going to get a little rough."

I shook my head. "Let's face it, Dad," I said. "I'm a little short of
eighteen, but you're sixty. I can see things coming better than you
can, and dodge them quicker."

Dad gave a rueful little laugh and looked at Bish.

"See how it goes?" he asked. "We spend our lives shielding our young
and then, all of a sudden, we find they're shielding us." His pipe had
gone out again and he relit it. "Too bad you didn't get an audiovisual
of Belsher making that idiotic statement."

"He didn't even know I was getting a voice-only. All the time he was
talking, I was doodling in a pad with a pencil."

"Synthetic substitutes!" Dad snorted. "Putting a synthetic tallow-wax
molecule together would be like trying to build a spaceship with a
jackknife and a tack hammer." He puffed hard on his pipe, and then
excused himself and went back to his