Red said, carelessly, “He’s around somewhere. We were just sort of walking and I looked around and he wasn’t there.” This was perfectly true, and Red felt on safe ground. “I told him it was lunch time. I said, ‘I suppose it’s about lunch time.’ I said, ‘We got to be getting back to the house.’ And he said, ‘Yes.’ And I just went on and then when I was about at the creek I looked around and⁠—”

The Astronomer interrupted the voluble story, looking up from a magazine he had been sightlessly rummaging through. “I wouldn’t worry about my youngster. He is quite self-reliant. Don’t wait lunch for him.”

“Lunch isn’t ready in any case, Doctor.” The Industrialist turned once more to his son. “And talking about that, son, the reason for it is that something happened to the ingredients. Do you have anything to say?”

“Sir?”

“I hate to feel that I have to explain myself more fully. Why did you take the chopped meat?”