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Nevertheless Thorby did not feel happy. He kept thinking about a live ship -- suddenly all dead, gone forever in a burst of radiance. Then he would look at his forefinger and wonder. He was caught in the old dilemma of the man with unintegrated values, who eats meat but would rather somebody else did the butchering.
When the dinner in his honor arrived he was three nights short on sleep and looked it. He pecked at his food.
Midway in the meal he became aware that Grandmother was glaring; he promptly spilled food on his dress jacket. "Well!" she snarled. "Have a nice nap?"
"Uh, I'm sorry, Grandmother. Did you speak to me?"
He caught his Mother's warning look but it was too late; Grandmother was off. "I was waiting for you to say something to me!"
"Uh . . . it's a nice day."
"I had not noticed that it was unusual. It rarely rains in space."
"I mean it's a nice party. Yes, a real nice party. Thank you for giving it, Grandmother."
"That's better. Young man, it is customary, when a gentleman dines with a lady, to offer her polite conversation. This may not be the custom among fraki, but it is invariable among People."
"Yes, Grandmother. Thank you. Grandmother."
"Let's start again. It's a nice party, yes. We try to make everyone feel equal, while recognizing the merits of each. It is gratifying to have a chance -- at last -- to join with our Family in noting a virtue in you
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