A group of Thebold troubleshooters watched, then rushed away and reappeared with brushes and paint. They transformed an advertising sign to read, in letters two feet high: Superior, U.S.A., Home of the Free.
Hawkers on opposite sides of the midway vied to give away hot dogs, boiled ears of corn, steaming coffee, hot chocolate, candy bars, and popcorn.
"There's a smart one." Alis pointed to a sign in Thebold territory. The Gripe Room it said over a vacant store. The Senator's men had set up desks and chairs inside and long lines had already formed.
Apparently a powerful complaint had been among the first to be registered because a Thebold man was galvanized into action. He ran out of the store and within minutes the sign painters were at work again. Their new banner, hoisted to dry in the sun, proclaimed: Blimp Mail.
Underneath, in smaller letters, it said: How long since you've heard from your loved ones on Earth? The Thebold Blimp will carry your letters and small packages. Direct daily connections with U. S. Mail.
"You have to admire them," Alis said. "They're really organized."
"One's as bad as the other," Don said. Impartially, he was eating a Hector hot dog and drinking Thebold coffee. "Have you noticed the guns in the upstairs windows?"
"No. You mean on the Senator's side?"
"Both sides. Don't stare."
"I see them now. Do you see any Gizl-sticks? The thing Hector used on Negus?"