"You said it," agreed the girl called Cleveland. She picked up a mimeographed sheet from the table and read from it aloud. "Eight-thirty, breakfast and initial briefing by Captain Johannson. Ten o'clock, basic questionnaire. Eleven o'clock, physical examination. Twelve o'clock, lunch. Two o'clock, domestic science test. Four o'clock, photography." She looked up at the others pathetically. "Isn't that awful?"
"Sounds okay to me," said the blonde, putting the final touches on her outfit by stringing gold bracelets up and down her arm. "Except that domestic science business. I burn water."
"Then you might as well go home," said the redhead sardonically. "You've got to be a Betty Crocker to win this clambake. Along with everything else."
"It's the stiffest beauty contest I ever saw," said the hefty brunette wistfully. "Honestly, I've won a couple back home, and all I had to do was—well, you know—kind of parade around a little."
"Well, this is an important contest," said the blonde. "I mean," she added hastily, on seeing the hurt look cross Maria's face, "this is a big contest. You know what you get if you're Miss Outer Space?"
"We know the prizes by heart, honey," said the redhead. "Why else do you think we're here?"
"It's rough, though," Cleveland admitted, turning the paper over and reading the agenda marked SECOND DAY. "Look what happens Tuesday. Ten o'clock, endurance test. What do you suppose they mean by that?"
"I don't know," the redhead shrugged. "But it sure doesn't sound so good."
"And listen to this one. Three o'clock, outer-space question period. What about that?"
"But I don't know anything about outer space," the big brunette complained. "It just isn't fair!"