They swam together for quite a while, neither wanting to break the silence. It would be, thought Bobby vaguely, an act of disloyalty. To Pop and Dick and the family. Of course, if Junior spoke first....
When they were dressing, each on his own side of the river, Junior spoke. He said, "You ever play quoits any more?"
"All the time," said Bobby airily. He hadn't laid a hand on the quoits since that afternoon. "We have a lot of fun," he said.
"Well, so do we," said Junior. He added, "Anyway, I can have your quoits' run after you leave Eros. My Dad said so."
"Don't hold your breath waiting," snorted Bobby. "I guess I'll be living in your big house after you go away."
"It's a nicer house than yours!"
"Did I say it wasn't?" Bobby had seen it. It was a beauty. But why not, with the limitless power of an atomic machine to supply the labor of creating plastic, operate the lifts and perform all the hard manual labor? "You ought to see our garden, though. We've got corn and beans and all sorts of things."
"No kidding?" Junior looked hungry. But he shook his head. "Synthos suit me exactly! I'd rather eat them than any home-grown stuff."
"I bet!" scoffed Bobby. He had finished dressing. He turned awkwardly. "Well—see you!" he said.