Finished, Eddie went out to breakfast.
“Good morning, dear,” his mother greeted him, handing him a plate of eggs.
“Hi, Mom,” Eddie said. “Gotta hurry. Big day today.”
“So your father says. But I’m afraid your big day will have to start with sorting out and tying up those newspapers and magazines that have been collecting in the garage.”
“Aw, Mom—”
“Eddie, I asked you to do it three days ago. Remember? And the Goodwill truck comes around today.”
“But, Mom—”
“No arguments, son,” his father put in calmly but firmly. “School vacation doesn’t mean that your chores around here are on vacation, too. Get at it right away, and you’ll still have time to hunt your uranium.
“Well,” Mr. Taylor added, excusing himself from the table, “I’d better be getting over to school. I’m expecting to receive shipment of a new radioisotope today.”
The very word excited Eddie. In fact, anything having to do with atomic science excited him. He knew something about isotopes—pronounced eye-suh-tope. You couldn’t have a father who was head of the atomic-science department at Oceanview College without picking up a little knowledge along the way. Eddie knew that a radioisotope was a material which had been “cooked” in an atomic reactor until it was “hot” with radioactivity. When carefully controlled, the radiation stored up in such isotopes was used in many beneficial ways.