ime I tried to smooth things over. I stepped up into their
focus.

"Aunt Mattie," I said. "This is Johnny McCabe. We were at school
together."

Her eyebrows shot upward.

"You were?" she asked, and looked piercingly at Johnny. "Then, I
realize, young man, that your attire is not your fault. You must have
been acting under orders, and against your personal knowledge of what
would be correct. I understand." She turned again to Miss Point.
"Underscore that note to the State Department," she said. "Mark it
emergency." She turned back to Johnny. "Very well, Mr. McCabe, we
would appreciate it, after all, if you would show us to our quarters
so that we may--ah--freshen up a bit. It is rather a warm day, isn't
it?"

She was quite gracious now, reassured because Johnny was an old school
mate of mine, and would therefore know right from wrong. If I
sometimes didn't seem to, she knew me well enough to know it had not
been the fault of the school.

The three of us, Johnny on one side of Aunt Mattie and I on the other
side, started toward the frame building on the other side of the
bubble, which I assumed was the hotel. The four subordinates trailed
along behind, silent, wary of one another.

Behind them the baggage truck, which had been piled high by the ship's
crew, hissed into life and started moving along on its tractor treads.
Johnny caught a glimpse of it, without actually turning around, and
his eyes opened wide. He misinterpreted, of course. From the mountain
of baggage it looked like our intention to stay a long time.

But then he wouldn't have been particularly reassured, either, had he
realized that our own supplies were quite scant and these bags, boxes,
and crates contained sewing machines and many, many bolts of gaily
colored cloth.

* * * * *

I had hardly more than--ah--freshened up a bit myself in my hotel
room, when I heard a discreet knock on my door. I opened it and saw
Johnny McCabe.

"May I come in, Hap?" he asked. As if against his will, he glanced
quickly down the hall toward the suite where aunt and her committee
had been put.

"Sure, Johnny," I said, and opened the door wide. I pointed to an
aluminum tube torture rack, government issue's idea of a chair. "You
can have the chair," I said. "I'll sit on the edge of the bed."

"I'm sorry about the furnishings," he said apologetically as he sat
down and I closed the door. "It's the best government will issue us in