Inside the Circle T ranch house, Hetty, bathed and cleaned and only slightly the worse for her experiences, was hustling about the kitchen throwing together a hasty meal. Johnny and Barney had swept up a huge pile of broken glass, crockery and dirt and Hetty had salvaged what dishes remained unshattered by the blast. She weaved through a dozen men grouped around the kitchen table, some in military or security police garb, three of them wearing the uniform of the atomic scientist in the field--bright Hawaiian sports shirts, dark glasses, blue denims and sneakers. Johnny and Barney huddled against the kitchen drainboard out of the main stream of traffic. The final editions of the San Francisco _Call-Bulletin_, Oakland _Tribune_, Los Angeles _Herald-Express_ and the Carson City _Appeal_ were spread out on the table. Hetty pushed them aside to put down dishes. The glaring black headlines stared up at her. "Dairy Detonation Devastates Desert," the alliterative _Chronicle_ banner read; "Bossy's Blast Rocks Bay Area," said the _Trib_; "Atomic Butter-And-Egg Blast Jars LA," the somewhat inaccurate _Herald-Ex_ proclaimed; "Thompson Ranch Scene of Explosion," the _Appeal_ stated, hewing to solid facts. "Mrs. Thompson," the oldest of the scientists said, "won't you please put down those dishes for a few minutes and give us the straight story. All afternoon long its been one thing or another with you and all we've been able to get out of you is this crazy milk-egg routine." "Time enough to talk after we've all had a bite to eat," Hetty said, juggling a platter of steaks and a huge bowl of mashed potatoes to the table. "Now we've all had a hard day and we can all stand to get on the outside of some solid food. I ain't had a bite to eat since this morning and I guess you boys haven't had much either. And since you've seemed to have made yourselves to home here, then by golly, you're going to sit down and eat with us. "Besides," she added over her shoulder as she went back to the stove for vegetables and bread, "me 'n Johnny have already told you what story there is to tell. That's all there is to it." She put more platters on the now-heaping table and then went around the table pouring coffee from the big ranch pot. "All right, you men sit down now and dig in," she ordered. "Mrs. Thompson," an Army major with a heavy brush mustache said, "we didn't come here to eat. We came for information." Hetty shoved back a stray wisp of hair and glared at the man. "Now you listen to me, you young whippersnapper. I didn't invite you, but since you're here, you'll do me the goodness of being a mite more polite," she snapped. The major winced and glanced at the senior scientist. The older man raised his eyes expressively and shrugged. He moved to the table and sat down. There was a general scuffling of chairs and the rest of the group took places around the big table. Johnny and Barney took their usual flanking positions beside Hetty at the head of the board.