"Perhaps I will. Yes, perhaps I will." But he still looked lost.

Our courier-interpreters had instructions to take us all home, or wherever we wanted to go, but I let mine leave once I had my ticket for home. She was awfully nice but she bothered me. She treated me as a cross between grandfather who must be watched over in traffic and a little boy who must be instructed. Not but what I needed instruction But once I had clothes that would not be stared at, I wanted to be on my own. She had taught me enough System Speech in a week so that I could get by in simple matters and I hoped that my mistakes would be charged up to a local accent from somewhere. Actually, I found that System Speech, when it wasn't upgained to tears, was just P-L lingo with more corners knocked off and some words added. English, in other words, trimmed and stretched to make a trade lingo.

So I thanked Senhorita Guerra and told her good-by and waved my ticket at a sleepy gatekeeper. He answered in Portuguese and I looked stupid, so he changed it to, "Outdowngo rightwards. Ask from allone." I was on my way.

Somehow everybody in the ship seemed to know that I was a Rip Van Winkle and the hostess insisted on helping me make the change at White Sands. But they were friendly and did not laugh at me. One chap wanted to know about the colony being opened up on Capella VIII and did not understand why I hadn't been there if I had spaced all that time. I tried to explain that Capella was clear across the sky and more than a hundred light-years from where I had been, but I didn't put the idea across.

But I did begin to see why we had not made a big splash in the news. Colony planets were the rage and there was a new one every day, so why should anyone be excited over one that we had found sixty years back? Or even over one just a few months back which did not compare with ones being turned up now? As for starships—see the latest news for current departures.

We were going to be a short paragraph in history and a footnote in science books; there wasn't room for us in the news. I decided that even a footnote averaged well and forgot it.

Instead I started thinking about my re-education which, I was beginning to realize, was going to have to be extensive; the changes had been more than I had bargained for. Take female styles, for example—look, I'm no Puritan, but they didn't dress, if you want to call it that, this way when I was a kid. Girls running around without a thing on their heads, not even on top... heads bare-naked, like an animal It was a good thing that Dad hadn't lived to see it. He never let our sisters come to the table without a hat, even if Pat and I were the only unmarried males present.

Or take the weather. I had known that LRF was working on it, but I never expected them to get anywhere. Don't people find it a little dull to have it rain only at night? Or take trucks. Of course, all you expect of a truck is that it haul things from here to there. But the lack of wheels does make them look unstable.

I wonder how long it will be before there is not a wheel on Earth?

I had decided that I would just have to get used to it all, when the hostess came by and put something in my lap and when I picked it up, it spoke to me. It was just a souvenir of the trip.

Pat's town house was eight times as big as the flat seven of us used to live in; I decided that he had managed to hang onto at least some of the money. His robutler took my cape and boots and ushered me in to see him.

He didn't get up. I wasn't sure he could get up. I had known that he was old, but I hadn't realized that he was old! He was—let me see, eighty-nine. Yes, that was right; we had our ninetieth birthday coming up.

I tried to keep it casual. "Hi, Pat."

"Hi, Tom." He touched the arm of his chair and it rolled toward me. "Don't move. Stand there and let me look at you." He looked me up and down, then said wonderingly, "I knew intellectually that you would not have changed with the years. But to see it, to realize it, is quite another thing, eh? 'The Picture of Dorian Gray.' "

His voice was old.

"Where is the family?" I said uncomfortably.

"I've told the girls to wait. I wanted to see my brother alone at first. If you mean Gregory and Hans as well, no doubt you will meet them at dinner tonight. But never mind them, lad; just let me visit with you, for a while. It's been a long time." I could see tears, the ready tears of old age, in his eyes and it embarrassed me.

"Yes, I guess it has."

He leaned forward and gripped the arms of his chair.

"Tell me just one thing. Was it fun?

I thought about it. Doc Devereaux... Mama O'Toole... poor little Pru who had never lived to grow up, not really. Uncle Steve. Then I switched it off and gave him the answer he wanted. "Yes, it was fun, lots of fun."

He sighed. "That's good. I quit regretting years ago. But if it hadn't been fun, it would have been such a terrible waste."

"It was."

"That's all I wanted to hear you say. I'll call the girls down in a moment. Tomorrow I'll show you around the plant and introduce you to the key men. Not that I expect you to take hold right away. Take a long vacation if you like. But not too long, Tom... for I guess I'm getting old. I can't look ahead the way I used to."

I suddenly realized that Pat had everything planned out, just as he always had. "Wait a minute, Pat. I'll be pleased to have you show me around your plant—and honored. But don't count on anything. First I'm going to school. After that—well, we'll see."

"Eh? Don't be silly. And don't call it 'my' plant; it's 'Bartlett Brothers, Incorporated.' It always has been. It's your responsibility as much as mine."

"Now, take it easy, Pat. I was just—"

"Quiet!" His voice was thin and shrill but it still had the sound of command. "I won't have any nonsense out of you, young man. You've had your own way and you've been off on a long picnic—I won't criticize how you managed it. That's bygones. But now you must buckle down and assume your responsibilities in the family business." He stopped and breathed heavily, then went on more softly, almost to himself. "I had no sons, I have no grandsons; I've had to carry the burden alone. To have my brother, to have my own brother..." His voice faded out.

I went up and took him by the shoulder—then I let go; it felt like match sticks. But I decided that I might as well settle it once and for all; I told myself it would be kinder. "Listen to me, Pat. I don't want to seem ungrateful, but you must get this straight. I'm going to live my own life. Understand me. It might include "Bartlett Brothers'; it might not. Probably not. But I will decide. I'll never be told again."

He brushed it aside. "You don't know your own mind; you're just a boy. Never mind, we'll speak of it tomorrow, Today is a day of gladness."

"No, Pat. I am not a boy, I am a man. You'll have to accept that. I'll make my own mistakes and I'll not be told."

He wouldn't look at me. I insisted, "I mean it, Pat. I mean it so much that if you can't accept it and abide by it, I'm walking out right now. Permanently."

Then he looked up. "You wouldn't do that to me."

"I would."

He searched my eyes. "I believe you would. You always were a mean one. You gave me a lot of trouble."

"I'm still mean... if you want to call it that."

"Uh... but you wouldn't do it to the girls? Not to little Vicky?"

"I will if you force my hand."

He held any eyes for a second, then his shoulders sagged and he buried his face in his hands. I thought he was going to cry and I felt like a villain, bullying an old man like that. I patted his shoulders, wishing that I had stalled, rather than forcing the issue.