Tom Brazier signed. Frank Brooks looked about, trying to find something wrong. Failing in this he tried to conjure up the uneasy feeling that something might be wrong. He failed again. He said, "How long have you been running this place, Pop?"
"Nigh onto ten years now. And the name's Frank Sibley, son. Never did get me a wife so o'course I ain't nobody's pop."
Frank Brooks grinned but as there was no rancor in the oldster's tone he didn't apologize.
"How is the food in the restaurant?" Tom Brazier asked.
"Fair to middlin'. Frijoles and beans. Ain't nobody can spoil frijoles and beans."
"That's what you think," Brooks said.
"Stayin' long?"
"A couple of days, maybe," Brazier told him. "Thought we might scout the hills. If the area looks right we might bring in some small uranium equipment."
"Good luck. Your room's to the head of the stairs—second door on the right."
"Thanks."