"Hear you been asking questions, Mr. Becker."
Sol nodded, embarrassed. "Guess I have. I'm awfully curious about this Armagon place. Never heard of anything like it before."
Dawes grunted. "You ain't a reporter?"
"Oh, no. I'm an engineer. I was just satisfying my own curiosity."
"Uh-huh." Dawes looked reflective. "You wouldn't be thinkin' about writing us up or anything. I mean, this is a pretty private affair."
"Writing it up?" Sol blinked. "I hadn't thought of it. But you'll have to admit—it's sure interesting."
"Yeah," Dawes said narrowly. "I guess it would be."
"Supper!" Mom called.
After the meal, they spent a quiet evening at home. Sally went to bed, screaming her reluctance, at eight-thirty. Mom, dozing in the big chair near the fireplace, padded upstairs at nine. Then Dawes yawned widely, stood up, and said goodnight at quarter-of-ten.
He paused in the doorway before leaving.