"And if you don't like it?"
"Then I'll do something else. Easy on that syrup, Oz; it's the very last."
Oscar stopped himself, syrup can in midair. "Oh, I'm sorry, Tex. Here-let me slop some from my plate onto yours."
"Don't bother. It was just a reflex remark. To tell the truth, I'm sick of hotcakes. We've had them every day now for more than two weeks, with nothing to break the monotony but hash a la native." ,
"I'm sick of them, too, but it didn't seem polite to say so, with you doing the cooking." Oscar pushed back his plate. "I don't mind the syrup running out"
"But it hasn’t-" Matt stopped.
"Something bite you, Matt?"
"No, I-nothing." He continued to look thoughtful.
"Close your mouth, then. Say, Oz, if we had some 'go' juice for the Tart, what would you pick?"
"Monatomic hydrogen."