Miss Cavallo kept her voice level, but only with a visible effort.
She said flatly, “No. Never. Young man, I have plenty to do right here on Azor without bothering my head about those places you’re talking about. Seventy-five years ago there was another fellow just like you; Flarney, some name like that; my grandmother told me about him. He came bustling in here causing trouble, with that old silly jingle about Wesley and C-square and so on, with some cock-and-bull story about a planet that was starving to death, stirring up a lot of commotion. Well, he wound up on ‘Minerva,’ because he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Watch out that you don’t do the same.”
She marched majestically to the door. “And now,” she said, “if you’ve wasted quite enough of my time, kindly leave.”
..... 8
“STUPID old bat,” Ross muttered. They were walking aimlessly down Fifteen Street, the nicely-landscaped machine tool works behind them.
Helena said timidly: “You really shouldn’t talk that way, Ross. She is older than you, after all. Old heads are——”
“——wisest,” he wearily agreed. “Also the most conservative. Also the most rigidly inflexible; also the most firmly closed to the reception of new ideas. With one exception.”
She reeled under the triple blasphemy and then faintly asked: “What’s the exception?”
Ross became aware that they were not alone. Their very manner of walking, he a little ahead, obviously leading the way, was drawing unfavorable attention from passers-by. Nothing organized or even definite—just looks ranging from puzzled distaste to anger. He said, “Somebody named Haarland. Never mind,” and in a lower voice: “Straighten up. Step out a little ahead of me. Scowl.”
She managed it all except the scowl. The expression on her face got some stupefied looks from other pedestrians, but nothing worse.