Tom felt an angry embarrassment. "Just an artist," he mumbled, cigaret in mouth, digging in his pockets for a match. "Hold on," said Joyce beside him and pointed a silver pencil at the tip of the cigaret. He felt a faint thrill in his lips and then started back, coughing. The cigaret was lighted. "Please mutate my poppy seeds, Mommy." A little girl had darted to Joyce from the children's table. "You're a very dirty little girl," Joyce told her without reproof. "Hold them out." She briefly directed the silver pencil at the clay pellets on the grimy little palm. The little girl shivered delightedly. "I love ultrasonics, they feel so funny." She scampered off. Tom cleared his throat. "I must say I'm tremendously impressed with the wood carvings. I'd like to photograph them. Oh, Lord!" "What's the matter?" Rachel asked. "I lost my camera somewhere." "Camera?" Jokichi showed interest. "You mean one for stills?" "Yes." "What kind?" "A Leica," Tom told him. Jokichi seemed impressed. "That is interesting. I've never seen one of those old ones." "Tom's a button man," Lois remarked by way of explanation, apparently. "Was the camera in a brown case? You dropped it where we met. We can get it later." "Good, I'd really like to take those pictures," Tom said. "Incidentally, who did the carvings?" "We did," Jock said. "Together." Tom was grateful that the scamper of the children out of the room saved him from having to reply. He couldn't think of anything but a grunt of astonishment. The conversation split into a group of chats about something called a psych machine, trips to Russia, the planet Mars, and several artists Tom had never heard of. He wanted to talk to Lois, but she was one of the group gabbling about Mars like children. He felt suddenly uneasy and out of things, and neither Rachel's deprecating remarks about her section of the wood carvings nor Joyce's interesting smiles helped much. He was glad when they all began to get up. He wandered outside and made his way to the children's lean-to, feeling very depressed. * * * * * Once again he was the center of a friendly naked cluster, except for the same solemn-faced little girl skipping rope. A rather malicious but not very hopeful whim prompted him to ask the youngest, "What's one and one?" "Ten," the shaver answered glibly. Tom felt pleased. "It could also be two," the oldest boy remarked. "I'll say," Tom agreed. "What's the population of the world?" "About seven hundred million." Tom nodded noncommittally and, grabbing at the first long word that he thought of, turned to the eldest girl. "What's poliomyelitis?" "Never heard of it," she said. The solemn little girl kept droning the same ridiculous chant: "Gik-lo, I-o, Rik-o, Gis-so." His ego eased, Tom went outside and there was Lois. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Nothing," he said.