She gasped. "For heaven's sake, why?"
"Don't you want a chicken farm? I am building one on a planet I own."
A groan came over the 'phone, lasting long enough to cost Gramenger & Lewis a credit and a half.
"Dad won't send them. I know. It's hare brained. No one's ever tried to raise chickens any place except on Earth."
"That isn't the point," he said. "Send the wire."
"All right," she said in a small voice.
"Furthermore," he added, "inform your father this is a business venture. I shall keep him supplied, as middleman, with a new breed of Plymouth Rocks which are considerably larger than turkeys, are more succulent, more tasty and tender, lay larger eggs with possibly larger yolks—"
"How?"
"I have some knowledge of biology and pressure chemistry, Anna. Plymouth will be ideal."
"What's Plymouth?"