Table 147 was not where it should be. Puzzled, Matt moved down the line until he found a table marked "147-149," with Cadet Sabbatello in charge. He found a place and sat down, to find himself sitting next to Pierre Armand. "Well! Pete!" he greeted him. "How are things going?"
"Glad to see you, Matt. Well enough, I guess." His tone seemed doubtful.
Matt looked him over. Pete seemed-"dragged through a knothole" was the phrase Matt settled on. He was about to ask what was wrong when Cadet Sabbatello rapped on the table. "Apparently," said the cadet, "some of you gentlemen have forgotten my advice last night, to eat sparingly this morning. You are about to go over the bumps today-and ground-hogs have been known to lose their breakfasts as well as their dignity."
Matt looked startled. He had intended to order his usual lavish breakfast; he settled for milk toast and tea. He noticed that Pete had ignored the cadet's advice; he was working on a steak, potatoes, and fried eggs-whatever ailed Pete, Matt decided, it had not affected his appetite.
Cadet Sabbatello had also noticed it. He leaned toward Pete. "Mister, uh-"
"Armand, sir," Pete answered between bites.
"Mr. Armand, either you have the digestion of a Martian sandworm, or you thought I was joking. Don't you expect to be dropsick?"
"No, sir."
"No?"
"You see, sir, I was born on Ganymede."