"Only too happy to, provided you tell me your name." It was a magnificent effort, for Andy.
"Frieda Dahlem."
"Frieda—Ah, nice name."
"Poppycock!" said Oscar. "Let's eat."
Conversation languished during the meal. Andy glared at the thlot, but Oscar was busy with his cube of sugar, too happy to say anything.
"Have you—have you found anything in your prospecting?" Andy asked.
"No. Oh, there's the outcropping of quartz I told you about, but the vein isn't rich enough to make it profitable. To import extraction machinery would cost a small fortune. The hills here are full of caves—dark, gloomy places that looked like they would make good hiding places for dingos, and I've been afraid to venture into them. Have you had any luck?"
"Naw. I guess I'll be a navigator until the end of my days," Andy answered dolefully.
"More sugar, Boss. One more lump, please," Oscar queried.
"Sugar costs a fortune here, you glutton, freight rates being what they are. No more for you today."