Grampa turned red and looked quickly toward Four. The boy was staring intently at Fweep. "What you doing, Four?"
"Trying to figure out what Fweep does with the sweepings," Four said absently. "The outer inch or two of his body gets cloudy and then slowly clears. I think I'll try him with a bigger particle."
"That's the idea, Four. You'll be a Peppergrass yet. How about building me a pircuit?"
"You get the other one figured out?"
"It was easy," Grampa said breezily, "once you understood the principle. The player who moved second could always win if he used the right strategy. Dividing the thirteen lights into three sections of four each—"
"That's right," Four agreed. "I can make you a new one by cannibalizing the other pircuit, but I'll need a few extra parts."
Grampa pushed the wall beside his chair and a drawer slid out of it.
Inside were row after row of nipple-topped, flat-sided, flexible free-fall bottles and a battered cigar box. "Thought you'd say that," he said, picking out the box. "Help yourself." With the other hand, he lifted out one of the bottles and took a long drag on it. "Ahhh!" he sighed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and carefully put the bottle away.
"What is that stuff you drink, Grampa?" Four asked.