A temporary dictatorship; Bish Ware is
dictator. Fieschi loaned him Ranjit Singh and some of his men. The
first thing he did was gather up the city treasurer and the chief of
police and march them to the spaceport; Fieschi made Hallstock buy
them tickets, too. But there aren't going to be any unofficial
hangings. This is a law-abiding planet, now."
A nurse came in, and disapproved of Tom smoking and of me being in the
room at all.
"Haven't you had your lunch yet?" she asked Tom.
He looked at her guilelessly and said, "No; I was waiting for it."
"Well, I'll get it," she said. "I thought the other nurse had brought
it." She started out, and then she came back and had to fuss with his
cushions, and then she saw the tray on the floor.
"You did so have your lunch!" she accused.
Tom looked at her as innocently as ever. "Oh, you mean these samples?
Why, they were good; I'll take all of them. And a big slab of roast
beef, and brown gravy, and mashed potatoes. And how about some ice
cream?"
It was a good try; too bad it didn't work.
"Don't worry, Tom," I told him. "I'll get my lawyer to spring you out
of this jug, and then we'll take you to my place and fill you up on
Mrs. Laden's cooking."
The nurse sniffed. She suspected, quite correctly, that whoever Mrs.
Laden was, she didn't know anything about scientific dietetics.
* * * * *
When I got back to the _Times_, Dad and Julio had had their lunch and
were going over the teleprint edition.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218