He chuckled inwardly. Claire always knew what to do when his temper started climbing to critical mass. He allowed her to load his plate again. "And speaking of our landing stage, have you been up there, this morning, Ray?" he asked. They both looked at him inquiringly. "Delivered last evening, while you two were out," he explained. "New winter model Rolls-Cadipac." He felt a glow of paternal pleasure as Claire gave a yelp of delight and aimed a glancing kiss at the top of his bald head. Ray dropped his fork, slid from his seat, and bolted for the lift, even bacon, eggs, and real bee-comb honey forgotten. With elaborate absent-mindedness, Chester Pelton reached for the switch to turn on the video screen over the pantry door. "Oh-oh! Oh-oh!" Claire's slender hand went out to stop his own. "Not till coffee and cigarettes, Senator." "It's almost oh-eight-fifteen; I want the newscast." "Can't you just relax for a while? Honestly, Senator, you're killing yourself." "Oh, rubbish! I've been working a little hard, but--" "You've been working too hard. And today, with the sale at the store, and the last day of the campaign--" "Why the devil did that idiot of a Latterman have the sale advertised for today, anyhow?" he fumed. "Doesn't he know I'm running for the Senate?" "I doubt it," Claire said. "He may have heard of it, the way you've heard about an election in Pakistan or Abyssinia, or he just may not know there is such a thing as politics. I think he does know there's a world outside the store, but he doesn't care much what goes on in it." She pushed her plate aside, poured a cup of coffee, and levered a cigarette from the Readilit, puffing at it with the relish of the morning's first smoke. "All he knows is that we're holding our sale three days ahead of Macy & Gimbel's." "Russ is a good businessman," Pelton said seriously. "I wish you'd take a little more interest in him, Claire." "If you mean what I think you do, no thanks," Claire replied. "I suppose I'll get married, some day--most girls do--but it'll be to somebody who can hang his business up at the office before he comes home. Russ Latterman is so married to the store that if he married me too, it'd be bigamy. Ready for your coffee?" Without waiting for an answer, she filled his cup and ejected a lighted cigarette from the box for him, then snapped on the video screen. It lit at once, and a nondescriptly handsome young man was grinning toothily out of it. He wore a white smock, halfway to his knees, and, over it, an old-fashioned Sam Browne belt which supported a bulky leather-covered tablet and a large stylus. On the strap which crossed his breast five or six little metal badges twinkled. "... Why no other beer can compare with delicious, tangy, Cardon's Black Bottle. Won't you try it?" he pleaded. "Then you will see for yourself why millions of happy drinkers always Call For Cardon's. And now, that other favorite of millions, Literate First Class Elliot C. Mongery."