When Dad passes on and some medium claims to have produced a spirit
communication from him, I will not accept it as genuine without the
expression: "Now wait a minute; it's here somewhere."

Bish wanted to know what I was fixing for myself, and I told him.

"Never mind the rum, Ralph. I believe," he said, "that I shall join
Walt in a fruit fizz."

Well, whattaya know! Maybe my stealthy temperance campaign was having
results. Dad looked positively startled, and then replaced the bottle
he was holding.

"I believe I'll make it unanimous," he said. "Fix me up a fruit fizz,
too, Walt."

I mixed two more fruit fizzes, and we carried them over to the table.
Bish sipped at his critically.

"Palatable," he pronounced it. "Just a trifle on the mild side, but
definitely palatable."

Dad looked at him as though he still couldn't believe the whole thing.
Dinner was slow coming. We finished our fizzes, and Bish and I both
wanted repeats, and Dad felt that he had to go along. So I made three
more. We were finishing them when Mrs. Laden started bringing in the
dinner. Mrs. Laden is a widow; she has been with us since my mother
died, the year after I was born. She is violently anti-liquor.
Reluctantly, she condones Dad taking a snort now and then, but as soon
as she saw Bish Ware, her face started to stiffen.

She put the soup on the table and took off for the kitchen. She always
has her own dinner with Julio. That way, while they're eating he can
tell her all the news that's fit to print, and all the gossip that
isn't.

For the moment, the odd things I'd been noticing about our
distinguished and temporarily incapacitated visitor came under the
latter head. I told Dad and Bish about my observations, beginning with
the deafening silence about Glenn Murell at the library. Dad began
popping immediately.

"Why, he must be an impostor!" he exclaimed. "What kind of a racket do
you think he's up to?"

"Mmm-mm; I wouldn't say that, not right away," Bish said. "In the
first place, Murell may be his true name and he may publish under a
nom de plume. I admit, some of the other items are a little
suspicious, but even if he isn't an author, he may have some
legitimate business here and, having heard a few stories about this
planetary Elysium, he may be exercising a little caution. Walt, tell
your father about that tallow-wax we saw, down in Bottom Level Fourth
Ward."

I did, and while I was talking Dad sat with his soup spoon poi