"Well," Melinda yawned, looking at the blank screen, "they've got Space Patrol, Space Cadet, Tales of Tomorrow ..."
"Excellent. Rocket ships or force-fields?" Melinda blinked. "Does your husband own one?" Melinda shook her blonde head helplessly. "What are your economic circumstances?"
Melinda took a deep rasping breath, said, "Listen, mister, is this a demonstration or a quiz program?"
"Oh, my excuse. Demonstration, certainly. You will not mind the questions?"
"Questions?" There was an ominous glint in Melinda's blue eyes.
"Your delightful primitive customs, art-forms, personal habits—"
"Look," Melinda said, crimsoning. "This is a respectable neighborhood, and I'm not answering any Kinsey report, understand?"
The little man nodded, scribbling. "Personal habits are tabu? I so regret. The demonstration." He waved grandly at the tray. "Anti-grav sandals? A portable solar converter? Apologizing for this miserable selection, but on Capella they told me—" He followed Melinda's entranced gaze, selected a tiny green vial. "This is merely a regenerative solution. You appear to have no cuts or bruises."
"Oh," said Melinda nastily. "Cures warts, cancer, grows hair, I suppose."
Porteous brightened. "Of course. I see you can scan. Amazing." He scribbled further with his stylus, glanced up, blinked at the obvious scorn on Melinda's face. "Here. Try it."