"I had better put my bachelor flat into the pot."

"Zebbie, you can't put Deety on your day bed. It's lumpy, Deety. Broken springs. Bruises. Zebbie, break your lease and send your furniture back to Good Will."

"Sharpie, you're at it again. Deety, there is no day bed in my digs. An emperor-size bed big enough for three-six if they are well acquainted."

"My Captain, do you go in for orgies?" I asked.

"No. But you can't tell what may turn up in the future."

"You always look ahead, Zebadiah," I said approvingly. "Am I invited?"

"At any orgy of mine, my wife will pick the guests and send the invitations."

"Thank you, sir. I'll wait until you seem to be bored, then look over the crop and pick out choice specimens for you. Assorted flavors and colors."

"My Princess, I will not spank a pregnant woman. But I can think about it. Pop, Snug Harbor continues to impress me. Did you use an architect?"

"Hrrumph! 'Architect' is a dirty word. I studied engineering. Architects copy each other's mistakes and call it 'Art.' Even Frank Lloyd Wright never understood what the Gilbreths were doing. His houses looked great from the outside-inside they were hideously inefficient. Dust collectors. Gloomy. Psych lab rat mazes. Pfui!"

"How about Neutra?"

"If he hadn't been hamstrung by building codes and union rules and zoning laws, Neutra could have been great. But people don't want efficient machines for living; they prefer to crouch in medieval hovels, as their flea-bitten forebears did. Cold, drafty, unsanitary, poor lighting, and no need for any of it."

"I respect your opinion, sir. Pop-three fireplaces....o chimneys. How? Why?"

"Zeb, I like fireplaces-and a few cords of wood can save your life in the mountains. But I see no reason to warm the outdoors or to call attention to the fact that we are in residence or to place trust in spark arresters in forestfire country. Lighting a fire in a fireplace here automatically starts its exhaust fan. Smoke and particles are electrostatically precipitated. The precipitators are autoscrubbed when stack temperature passes twenty-five Celsius, dropping. Hot air goes through labyrinths under bathtubs and floors, then under other floors, thence into a rock heat-sink under the garage, a sink that drives the heat pump that serves the house. When flue gas finally escapes, at points distant from the house,' it is so close to ambient temperature that only the most sensitive heat-seeker could sniff it. Thermal efficiency plus the security of being inconspicuous."

"But suppose you are snowed in so long that your power packs play out?"

"Franklin stoves in storage, stove pipe to match, stops in the walls removable from inside to receive thimbles for flue pipes."

"Pop," I inquired, "is this covered by Rule One? Or was Rule One abolished last night in Elko?"

"Eh? The chair must rule that it is suspended until Hilda ratifies or cancels it. Hilda my love, years back Jane instituted Rule One-"

"I ratify it!"

"Thank you. But listen first. It applies to meals. No news broadcasts-"

"Pop," I again interrupted, "while Rule One is still in limbo-did Gay Deceiver have any news? I worry, I do!"

"Null retrievals, dear. With the amusing conclusion that you and I are still presumed to have died twice, but the news services do not appear to have noticed the discrepancy. However, Miss Gay Deceiver will interrupt if a bulletin comes in; Rule One is never invoked during emergencies. Zeb, do you want this rig in your bedroom at night?"

"I don't want it but should have it. Prompt notice might save our skins."

"We'll leave this here and parallel another into there, with gain stepped to wake you. Back to Rule One: No news broadcasts at meals, no newspapers. No shop talk, no business or financial matters, no discussion of ailments. No political discussion, no mention of taxes, or of foreign or domestic policy. Reading of fiction permitted en famille-not with guests present. Conversation limited to cheerful subjects-"

"No scandal, no gossip?" demanded Aunt Hilda.

"A matter of your judgment, dear. Cheerful gossip about friends and acquaintances, juicy scandal about people we do not like-fine! Now-do you wish to ratify, abolish, amend, or take under advisement?"

"I ratify it unchanged. Who knows some juicy scandal about someone we don't like?"

"I know an item about 'No Brain'-Doctor Neil Brain," Zebadiah offered.

"Give!"

"I got this from a reliable source but can't prove it."

"Irrelevant as long as it's juicy. Go ahead, Zebbie."

"Well, a certain zaftig coed told this on herself. She tried to give her all to 'Brainy' in exchange for a passing grade in the general math course necessary to any degree on our campus. It is rigged to permit prominent but stupid athletes to graduate. Miss Zaftig was flunking it, which takes exceptional talent.

"So she arranged an appointment with the department head-'Brainy'- and made her quid-pro-quo clear. He could give her horizontal tutoring then and there or in her apartment or his apartment or in a motel and she would pay for it or whenever and wherever he chose. But she had to pass."

"Happens on every campus, Son," Pop told him.

"I haven't reached the point. She blabbed the story-not angry but puzzled. She says that she was unable to get her intention over to him (which seems impossible, I've seen this young woman). 'Brainy' didn't accept, didn't refuse, wasn't offended, didn't seem to understand. He told her that she had better talk to her instructor about getting tutoring and a re-exam. Now Miss Zaftig is circulating the story that Prof 'No Brain' must be a eunuch or a robot. Not even a homo. Totally sexless."

"He's undoubtedly stupid," Aunt Hilda commented. "But I've never met a man I couldn't get that point across to, if I tried. Even if he was uninterested in my fair virginal carcass. I've never tried with Professor Brain because I'm not interested in his carcass. Even barbecued."

"Then, Hilda my darling, why did you invite him to your party?"

"What? Because of your note, Jacob. I don't refuse you favors."

"But, Hilda, I don't understand. When I talked to you by telephone, I asked you to invite Zeb-under the impression that he was his cousin Zebulon-and I did say that two or three others from the department of mathematics might make it less conspicuously an arranged meeting. But I didn't mention Doctor Brain. And I did not write."

"Jacob-I have your note. In California. On your University stationery with your name printed on it."

Professor Burroughs shook his head, looked sad. Zebadiah Carter said, "Sharpie-handwritten or typed?"

"Typed. But it was signed! Wait a moment, let me think. It has my name and address down in the lower left. Jacob's name was typed, too, but it was signed 'Jake.' Uh....My dear Hilda, A hasty P.S. to my phone call of yesterday-Would you be so kind as to include Doctor Neil O. Brain, chairman of mathematics? I don't know what possessed me that I forgot to mention him. Probably the pleasure of hearing your dear voice.

"Deety sends her love, as do I. Ever yours, Jacob J. Burroughs' with 'Jake' signed above the typed name."

Zebadiah said to me, "Watson, you know my methods."

"Certainly, my dear Holmes. A 'Black Hat.' In Logan."

"We knew that. What new data?"

"Well... Pop made that call from the house; I remember it. So somebody has a tap on our phone. Had, I mean; the fire probably destroyed it."

"A recording tap. The purpose of that fire may have been to destroy it and other evidence. For now we know that the 'Blokes in the Black Hats' knew that your father-and you, but it's Pop they are after-was in California last evening. After 'killing' him in California, they destroyed all they could in Utah. Professor, I predict that we will learn that your office was robbed last night-any papers on six-dimensional spaces."