They set out the cakes—more than a hundred of them, topped by icings of all colors and all flavors. The chairman introduced Ronar and lauded both his impartiality and the keenness of his sense of taste.
They had a judging card ready. Slowly, Ronar began to go down the line.
They might just as well have signed each cake with its maker's name. As he lifted a portion of each to his mouth, he could hear the quick intake of breath from the woman who had baked it, could catch the whispered warning from her companion. There were few secrets they could keep from him.
At first they all watched intently. When he had reached the fifth cake, however, a hand went up in the audience. "Madam Chairman!"
"Please, ladies, let us not interrupt the judging."
"But I don't think the judging is right. Mr. Ronar tastes hardly more than a crumb of each!"
"A minimum of three crumbs," Ronar corrected her. "One from the body of the cake, one from the icing, and an additional crumb from each filling between layers."
"But you can't judge a cake that way! You have to eat it, take a whole mouthful—"
"Please, madam, permit me to explain. A crumb is all I need. I can analyze the contents of the cake sufficiently well from that. Let me take for instance Cake Number 4, made from an excellent recipe, well baked. Martian granis flour, goover eggs, tingan-flavored salt, a trace of Venusian orange spice, synthetic shortening of the best quality. The icing is excellent, made with rare dipentose sugars which give it a delightful flavor. Unfortunately, however, the cake will not win first prize."
An anguished cry rose from the audience. "Why?"