. Thompson," an Army major with a heavy brush mustache said, "we
didn't come here to eat. We came for information."

Hetty shoved back a stray wisp of hair and glared at the man.

"Now you listen to me, you young whippersnapper. I didn't invite you,
but since you're here, you'll do me the goodness of being a mite more
polite," she snapped.

The major winced and glanced at the senior scientist. The older man
raised his eyes expressively and shrugged. He moved to the table and
sat down. There was a general scuffling of chairs and the rest of the
group took places around the big table. Johnny and Barney took their
usual flanking positions beside Hetty at the head of the board.

Hetty took her seat and looked around the table with a pleased smile.
"Now that's more like it."

She bowed her head and, after a startled glance, the strangers followed
suit.

"We thank Thee, dear Lord," Hetty said quietly, "for this food which we
are about to eat and for all Your help to us this day. It's been a
little rough in spots but I reckon You've got Your reasons for all of
it. Seein' as how tomorrow is Your day anyway, we ask that it be just a
mite quieter. Amen."

The satisfying clatter of chinaware and silver and polite muttered
requests for more potatoes and gravy filled the kitchen for the next
quarter of an hour as the hungry men went to work on the prime Circle T
yearling beef.

* * * * *

After his second steak, third helping of potatoes and gravy and fourth
cup of coffee, the senior scientist contentedly shoved back from the
table. Hetty was polishing the last dabs of gravy from her plate with a
scrap of bread. The scientist pulled a pipe and tobacco pouch from his
pocket.

"With your permission, m'am," he asked his hostess. Hetty grinned. "For
heaven's sake, fire it up, sonny. Big Jim--that was my husband--used to
say that no meal could be said properly finished unless it had been
smoked into position for digestion."

Several of the other men at the table followed suit with pipes, cigars
and cigarettes. Hetty smiled benignly around the table and turned to
the senior scientist.

"What did you say your name was, sonny?" she asked.

"Dr. Floyd Peterson, Mrs. Thompson," he replied, "and at forty-six
years of age, I deeply thank you for that 'sonny'."

He reached for the stack of newspapers on the floor beside his chair
and pushing back his plate, laid them on the table.

"No