Basom was a powerful young man, tall and well-proportioned. If the truth were known, he probably had the ability to get a good job from The Chief--become a secretary or something, like Russat. But he was sloppy in his work, and, as Blejjo had said, lazy. His saving grace was the fact that he took things as they came; he never showed any resentment towards Anketam if he was rebuked for not doing his work well, and he honestly tried to do better--for a while, at least. "Not too lazy to loaf," Basom said in self-defense. "Just too lazy to walk four miles to loaf when I can do it here." Old Blejjo was taking his fishing gear down from the rack on the porch. Without looking around, he said: "Cooler down by the river." "By the time I walked there," said Basom philosophically, "walking through all that sun, I'd be so hot it would take me two hours to cool down to where I am now, and another two hours to cool down any more. That's four hours wasted. Now--" He looked at Anketam with a sly grin. "Now, if you two wanted to carry me, I'd be much obliged. Anketam, you could carry me piggyback, while Blejjo goes over to fetch my pole. If you'd do that, I believe I could see my way clear to going fishing with you." Anketam shook his head positively. "I'm afraid the sun would do you in, anyway." "Maybe you'd like The Chief to carry you," said Blejjo. There was a bite in his voice. "Now, wait," Basom said apprehensively, "I didn't say anything like that. I didn't mean it that way." Blejjo pointed his fishing pole at the youth. "You ought to be thankful you've got Anketam for a supervisor. There's some supers who'd boot you good for a crack like that." Basom cast appealing eyes at Anketam. "I _am_ thankful! You know I am! Why, you're the best super in the barony! Everybody knows that. I was only kidding. You know that." Before Anketam could say anything, the old man said: "You can bet your life that no other super in this barony would put up with your laziness!" "Now, Blejjo," said Anketam, "leave the boy alone. He meant no harm. If he needs talking to, I'll do the talking." Basom looked gratefully reprieved. "Sorry, Ank," said Blejjo. "It's just that some of these young people have no respect for their elders." He looked at Basom and smiled. "Didn't mean to take it out on you, Bas. There's a lot worse than you." Then, changing his tone: "Sure you don't want to come with us?" Basom looked apologetic, but he stuck to his guns. "No. Thanks again, but--" He grinned self-consciously. "To be honest, I was thinking of going over to see Zillia. Her dad said I could come." Anketam grinned at the boy. "Well, now, that's an excuse I'll accept. Come on, Blejjo, this is not a sport for old men like us. Fishing is more our speed." Chuckling, Blejjo shouldered his fishing pole, and the two men started down the dusty village street toward the road that led to the river. * * * * *