Stranger in a Strange Land

smiled and waved, went back to hearty eating. He did not look as if he had been up all night-nor had he; he had been up two nights.
                Becky Vesey looked around when Duke waved and said happily, "Hi, you old goat!"-grabbed his ear, pulled him down, and whispered into it:
                "I've known it all along-but why weren't you around to console me when the Professor died?" She added aloud, "Sit down here beside me and we'll get some food into you while you tell me what devilment you've been plotting lately."
                "Just a moment, Becky." Jubal went around the table. "Hi, Skipper. Good trip?"
                "No trouble. It's becoming a milk run. I don't believe you've ever met Mrs. van Tromp. My dear, the founder of this feast, the one and only Jubal Harshaw-two of him would be too many."
                The Captain's wife was a tall, plain woman with the calm eyes of one who has watched from the Widow's Walk. She stood up, kissed Jubal. "Thou art God."
                "Uh, thou art God." Jubal decided that he might as well relax to the ritual-hell, if he said it often enough, he might lose the rest of his buttons and believe it . . . and it did have a friendly ring to it with the arms of the Skipper's yrouw firmly around him. He decided that she could even teach Jul something about kissing. She-how was it Anne had once described it? -she gave it her whole attention; she wasn't going anywhere.
                "I suppose, Van," he said, "that I really shouldn't be surprised to find you here."
                "Well," answered the spaceman, "a man who commutes to Mars ought to be able to palaver with the natives, don't you think?"
                "Just for powwow, huh?"
                "There are other aspects." Van Tromp reached for a piece of toast; the toast cooperated. "Good food, good company."
                "Um, yes."
                "Jubal," Madame Vesant called out, "soup's on!"
                Jubal returned to his place, found eggs-on-horseback, orange juice, and other choice comestibles waiting for him. Becky patted his thigh. "A fine prayer meeting, me bucko."
                "Woman, back to your horoscopes!"
                "Which reminds me, deane, I want to know the exact instant of your birth."
                "Uh, I was born on three successive days, at various hours. I was too big a boy-they had to handle me in sections."
                Becky made a rude answer. "I'll find out."
                "The courthouse burned down when I was three. You can't."
                "There are ways. Want to make a small bet?"
                "You go on heckling me and you'll find you're not too big to spank. How've you been, girl?"
                "What do you think? How do I look?"
                "Healthy. A bit spread in the butt. You've touched up your hair."
                "I have not. I quit using henna months ago. Get with it, pal, and we'll get rid of that white fringe you've got. Replace it with a real lawn."
                "Becky, I refuse to grow any younger for any reason. I came by my decrepitude the hard way and I propose to enjoy it. Quit prattling and let a man eat."
                "Yes, sir. You old goat."
                Jubal was just leaving the table as the Man from Mars came in. "Father! Oh, Juball" Mike hugged and kissed him.
                Jubal gently unwound himself from the embrace. "Be your age, son. Sit down and enjoy your breakfast. I'll sit with you."
                "I didn't come here looking for breakfast, I came looking for you. We'll find a place and talk."
                "All right."
                They went to the livingroom of one of the suites, Mike pulling Jubal by the hand like an excited small boy welcoming his favorite grandparent. Mike picked a big comfortable chair for Jubal and sprawled himself on a couch opposite and close to him. This room was on the side of the wing having the private landing flat; there were high French windows opening to it. Jubal got up and shifted his chair slightly so that he would not be facing so directly into the light in looking at his foster son; not to his surprise but mildly to his annoyance the heavy chair shifted as if it had been no more massive than a child's