Facing the station a half mile away in the cool, thin air stood Hayworth Hall, Earth headquarters of the fabulous Patrol. Matt stared at it, trying to realize that he was at last seeing it.
Jarman nudged him. "Come on."
"Huh? Oh-sure." A pair of slidewalks stretched from the station to the hall; they stepped onto the one running toward the building. The slidewalk was crowded; more boys streamed out of the station behind them. Matt noticed two boys with swarthy, thin features who were wearing high, tight turbans, although dressed otherwise much like himself. Further down the walk he glimpsed a tall, handsome youth whose impassive face was shiny black.
- The Texas boy hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked around. "Granny, kill another chicken!" he said. "There's company for dinner. Speaking of that," he went on, "I hope they don't wait lunch too long. I'm hungry."
Matt dug a candy bar out of his pouch, split it and gave half to Jarman, who accepted it gratefully. "You're a pal, Matt, I've been living on my own fat ever since breakfast- and that's risky. Say, your telephone is sounding."
"Oh!" Matt fumbled in his pouch and got out his phone. "Hello?"
"That you, son?" came his father's voice.
"Yes, Dad."
"Did you get there all right?"
"Sure, I'm about to report in."