"D-dinosaur!" stuttered Tom in amazement. "Why—why—that's a prehistoric monster!"
"Yeah, Astro," agreed Roger. "What are you trying to hand us?"
Astro laughed. "You'll see, fellows," he replied. "I used to go hunting for them when I was a kid. Brought the best price of any wild game. Fifty credits for babies under three hundred pounds. Over that, you can't eat 'em. Too tough!"
Tom and Roger looked at each other, eyes bulging.
"Ah, come on, Tom," drawled Roger. "He's just trying to pull our leg."
Without a word, Astro grabbed them by the arms and rushed them into the restaurant. They were no sooner seated when a recorded voice announced the menu over a small loud-speaker on the table. Astro promptly ordered dinosaur, and to his unit-mates' amazement, the voice politely inquired:
"Would the spacemen prefer to have it broiled à la Venusian black bread, baked, or raw?"
A sharp look from Roger and Tom, and Astro ordered it broiled.
One hour and fifteen minutes later the three members of the Polaris unit staggered out of the restaurant.
"By the rings of Saturn," declared Tom, "that wasn't only the most I ever ate—it was the best!"