"Didn't you hear the Deimos newscast this afternoon?" Mr. Marlowe answered.

"Never listen to newscasts. Saves wear and tear on the nervous system."

"No doubt. But this was good news. The pilot plant in Libya is in operation, successful operation. The first day's run restored nearly four million tons mass of oxygen to the airand no breakdowns."

Mrs. Marlowe looked startled. "Four million tons? That seems a tremendous lot."

Her husband grinned. "Any idea how long it would take that one plant at that rate to do the job, that is, increase the oxygen pressure by five mass-pounds per square inch?"

"Of course I haven't. But not very long 1should think."

"Let me see-" His lips moved soundlessly. "Uh, around two hundred thousand years-Mars years, of course."

"James, you're teasing me!"

"No, I'm not. Don't let big figures frighten you, my dear;

of course we won't depend on one plant; they'll be scattered every fifty miles or so through the desert, a thousand megahorsepower each. There's no limit to the power available, thank goodness; if we don't clean up the job in our lifetimes, at least the kids will certainly see the end of it."

Mrs. Marlowe looked dreamy. "That would be nice, to "walk outside with your bare face in the breeze. I remember when I was a little girl, we had an orchard with a stream running through it-" She stopped.

"Sorry we came to Mars, Jane?" her husband asked softly.

"Oh, no! This is my home."

"Good. What are you looking sour about. Doctor?"

"Eh? Oh, nothing, nothing! I was just thinking about (he end result. Mind you, this is fine work, all of it-hard work, good work, that a man can get his teeth into. But we get it done and what for? So that another two billion, three billion sheep can fiddle around with nonsense, spend their time scratching themselves and baaing. We should have left Mars to the Martians. Tell me, sir, do you know what television was used for when it first came out?"

"No. How would I?"

"Well, I didn't see it myself of course, but my father told me about it. It seems-"

"Your/arAer? How old was he? When was he bom?"

"My grandfather, then. Or it may have been my great grandfather. That's beside the point. They installed the first television sets in cocktail bars-amusement places-and used them to watch wrestling matches."

"What's a 'wresting match'?" demanded Phyllis.

"An obsolete form of folk dancing," explained her father. "Never mind. Granting your point. Doctor, I see no harm-"

"What's 'folk dancing'?" persisted Phyllis.

"You tell her, Jane. She's got me stumped."

Jim looked smug. "It's when folks dance, silly."

"That's near enough," agreed his mother.

Doctor MacRae stared. "These kids are missing something. I think I'll organize a square-dancing club. I used to be a pretty good caller, once upon a time."

Phyllis turned to her brother. "Now I suppose you'll tell me that square dancing is when a square dances."

Mr. Marlowe raised his eyebrows. "I think the children have all finished, my dear. Couldn't they be excused?"

"Yes, surely. You may leave, my dears. Say 'Excuse me, please,' Ollie." The baby repeated it, with Willis in mirror chorus.

Jim hastily wiped his mouth, grabbed Willis, and headed for his own room. He like to hear the doctor talk but he had to admit that the old boy could babble the most fantastic nonsense when other grown-ups were around. Nor did the discussion of the oxygen project interest Jim; he saw nothing strange nor uncomfortable about wearing his mask. He would feel undressed going outdoors without it.

From Jim's point of view Mars was all right the way it was, no need to try to make it more like Earth. Earth was no great shakes anyway. His own personal recollection of Earth was limited to vague memories from early childhood of the emigrants' conditioning station on the high Bolivian plateau -cold, shortness of breath, and great weariness.

His sister trailed after him. He stopped just inside his door and said, "What do you want, shorty?"

"Uh, Jimmy-I'm sorry I said I could shoot better than you can. I can't really."

"Huh? What are you leading up to?"

"Well.... Lookie, Jimmy, seeing as I'm going to have to take care of Willis after you're gone away to school, maybe it would be a good idea for you to sort of explain it to him, so he would do what I tell him."

Jim stared. "Whatever gave you the notion I was going to leave him behind?"

She stared back. "But you are! You'll have to. You can't take him to school. You ask mother."

"Mother hasn't anything to do with it. She doesn't care what I take to school."

"You just ask her. They don't allow pets at school. I heard her talking with Frank Sutton's mother about it just yesterday."

"Willis isn't a pet. He's a, he's a-"

"He's a what?"

"He's a friend, that's what he is: a friend!"

"Well, he's a friend of mine, too-aren't you, Willis? Anyhow, I think you're mean."

"You always think I'm mean if I don't cater to your every wish!"

"Not to me-to Willis. This is Willis's home; he's used to it. He'll be homesick away at school."

"He'll have me!"

"Not most of the time, he won't. You'll be in class. Willis wouldn't have anything to do but sit and mope. You ought to leave him here with me-with us-where he'd be happy."

Jim straightened himself up. "I'm going to find out about this, right away." He walked back into the living compartment and waited aggressively to be noticed. Shortly his father turned toward him.

"Yes? What is it, Jim? Something eating on you?"

"Uh, weU-look. Dad, is there any doubt about Willis going with me when I go away to school?"

His father looked surprised. "It had never occurred to me that you would consider taking him."

"Huh? Why not?"

"Well, school is hardly the place for him."

"Why?"

"Well, you wouldn't be able to take care of him properly. You'll be awfully busy."

"Willis doesn't take much care. He never makes messes. Just feed him every month or so and give him a drink about once a week and he doesn't ask for anything else. Why can't I take him, Dad?"

Mr. Marlowe looked baffled; he turned to his wife. She started in, "Now, Jimmy darling, we don't want you to-"

Jim interrupted, "Mother, every time you want to talk me out of something you start out, 'Jimmy darling'!"

Her mouth twitched but she kept from smiling. "Sorry, Jim. Perhaps I do. What I was trying to say was this: we want you to get off to a good start at school. I don't believe that having Willis on your hands will help any. As a matter of fact Mrs. Sutton was telling me just the other day that she had heard that pets were not allowed. She said-"

"How does she know anything about it?"

"Well, she had been talking with the Resident's wife."

Jim was stumped for the moment. The wife of the Resident Agent of the Mars Company for South Colony undoubtedly had better sources of information than he had. But he was not ready to give up. "Look, Mother. Look, Dad. You both saw the pamphlet the school sent me, telling me what to do and what to bring and when to show up and so forth. If either one of you can find anything anywhere in those instructions that says I can't take Willis with me, I'll shut up like a Martian. Is that fair?"

Mrs. Marlowe looked inquiringly at her husband. He looked back at her with the same appeal for help in his expression. He was acutely aware that Doctor MacRae was watching both of them, not saying a word but wearing an expression of sardonic amusement.

Mr. Marlowe shrugged. "Take Willis along, Jim. But he's your problem."

Jim's face broke out in a grin. "Thanks, Dad!" He left the room quickly in order not to give his parents time to change their minds.

Mr. Marlowe banged his pipe on an ashtray and glowered at Doctor MacRae. "Well, what are you grinning at, you ancient ape? You think I'm too indulgent, don't you?"