«Mister – »

« – when I heard you were in town I just couldn't wait to hear all about my poor darling. How is she? Is she thin? Does she look well? These modern girls – I've told her time and again that she must get out of doors – I walk in the Park every day – and look at me. She sent me a picture – I have it here somewhere; at least I think I have – and she doesn't look a bit well, undernourished. Those synthetic foods – »

«She doesn't eat synthetic foods, Mrs. Appleby.»

« – must be quite impossible, I'm sure, not to mention the taste. What were you saying?»

«Your daughter doesn't live on synthetic foods,» Allan repeated. «Fresh fruits and vegetables are one thing we have almost too much of in Luna City. The air-conditioning plant, you know.»

«That's just what I was saying. I confess I don't see just how you get food out of air-conditioning machinery on the Moon – »

«In the Moon, Mrs. Appleby.»

« – but it can't be healthy. Our air-conditioner at home is always breaking down and making the most horrible smells – simply unbearable, my dears – you'd think they could build a simple little thing like an air-conditioner so that – though of course if you expect them to manufacture synthetic foods as well – »

«Mrs. Appleby – »

«Yes, Doctor? What were you saying? Don't let me – »

«Mrs. Appleby,» MacRae said desperately, «the air-conditioning plant in Luna City is a hydroponic farm, tanks of growing plants, green things. The plants take the carbon dioxide out of the air and put oxygen back in.»

«But – Are you quite sure, Doctor? I'm sure Emma said – »

«Quite sure.»

«Well ... I don't pretend to understand these things, I'm the artistic type. Poor Herbert often said – Herbert was Emma's father; simply wrapped up in his engineering though I always saw to it that he heard good music and saw the reviews of the best books. Emma takes after her father, I'm afraid – I do wish she would give up that silly work she is in. Hardly the sort of work for a woman, do you think, Mrs. MacRae? All those atoms and neuters and things floating around in the air. I read all about it in the Science Made Simple column in the – »

«She's quite good at it and she seems to like it.»

«Well, yes, I suppose. That's the important thing, to be happy at what you are doing no matter how silly it is. But I worry about the child – buried away from civilization, no one of her own sort to talk to, no theaters, no cultural life, no society – »

«Luna City has stereo transcriptions of every successful Broadway play.» Jo's voice had a slight edge.

«Oh! Really? But it's not just going to the theater, my dear; it's the society of gentlefolk. Now when I was a girl, my parents – »

Allan butted in, loudly. «One o'clock. Have you had lunch, my dear?»

Mrs. Appleby sat up with a jerk. «Oh, heavenly days! I simply must fly. My dress designer – such a tyrant, but a genius; I must give you her address. It's been charming, my dears, and I can't thank you too much for telling me all about my poor darling. I do wish she would be sensible like you two; she knows I'm always ready to make a home for her – and her husband, for that matter. Now do come and see me, often. I love to talk to people who've been on the Moon – »

«In the Moon.»

«It makes me feel closer to my darling. Good-by, then.»

With the door locked behind her, Jo said, «Allan, I need a drink.»

«I'll join you.»

Jo cut her shopping short; it was too tiring. By four o'clock they were driving in Central Park, enjoying fall scenery to the lazy clop-clop of horse's hoofs. The helicopters, the pigeons, the streak in the sky where the Antipodes rocket had passed, made a scene idyllic in beauty and serenity. Jo swallowed a lump in her throat and whispered, «Allan, isn't it beautiful?»

«Sure is. It's great to be back. Say, did you notice they've torn up 42nd Street again?»

Back in their room, Jo collapsed on her bed, while Allan took off his shoes. He sat, rubbing his feet, and remarked, «I'm going barefooted all evening. Golly, how my feet hurt!»

«So do mine. But we're going to your father's, my sweet.»

«Huh? Oh, damn, I forgot. Jo, whatever possessed you? Call him up and postpone it. We're still half dead from the trip.»

«But, Allan, he's invited a lot of your friends.»

«Balls of fire and cold mush! I haven't any real friends in New York. Make it next week.»

» 'Next week' ... h'm'm ... look, Allan, let's go out to the country right away.» Jo's parents had left her a tiny place in Connecticut, a worn-out farm.

«I thought you wanted a couple of weeks of plays and music first. Why the sudden change?»

«I'll show you.» She went to the window, open since noon. «Look at that window sill.» She drew their initials in the grime. «Allan, this city is filthy .»

«You can't expect ten million people not to kick up dust.»

«But we're breathing that stuff into our lungs. What's happened to the smog-control laws?»

«That's not smog; that's normal city dirt.»

«Luna City was never like this. I could wear a white outfit there till I got tired of it. One wouldn't last a day here.»

«Manhattan doesn't have a roof – and precipitrons in every air duct.»

«Well, it should have. I either freeze or suffocate.»

«I thought you were anxious to feel rain on your face?»

«Don't be tiresome. I want it out in the clean, green country.»

«Okay. I want to start my book anyhow. I'll call your real estate agent.»

«I called him this morning. We can move in anytime; he started fixing up the place when he got my letter.»

It was a stand-up supper at his father's home, though Jo sat down at once and let food be fetched. Allan wanted to sit down, but his status as guest of honor forced him to stay on his aching feet. His father buttonholed him at the buffet. «Here, son, try this goose liver. It ought to go well after a diet of green cheese.»

Allan agreed that it was good.

«See here, son, you really ought to tell these folks about your trip.»

«No speeches, Dad. Let 'em read the National Geographic .»

«Nonsense!» He turned around. «Quiet, everybody! Allan is going to tell us how the Lunatics live.»

Allan bit his lip. To be sure, the citizens of Luna City used the term to each other, but it did not sound the same here. «Well, really, I haven't anything to say. Go on and eat.»

«You talk and we'll eat.»

«Tell us about Looney City.»

«Did you see the Man-in-the-Moon?»

«Go on, Allan, what's it like to live on the Moon?»

«Not 'on the Moon' – in the Moon.»

«What's the difference?»

«Why, none, I guess.» He hesitated; there was really no way to explain why the Moon colonists emphasized that they lived under the surface of the satellite planet – but it irritated him the way «Frisco» irritates a San Franciscan. « 'In the Moon' is the way we say it. We don't spend much time on the surface, except for the staff at Richardson Observatory, and the prospectors, and so forth. The living quarters are underground, naturally.»

«Why 'naturally'? Afraid of meteors?»

«No more than you are afraid of lightning. We go underground for insulation against heat and cold and as support for pressure sealing. Both are cheaper and easier underground. The soil is easy to work and the interstices act like vacuum in a thermos bottle. It is vacuum.»

«But Mr. MacRae,» a serious-looking lady inquired, «doesn't it hurt your ears to live under pressure?»

Allan fanned the air. «It's the same pressure here – fifteen pounds.»

She looked puzzled, then said, «Yes, I suppose so, but it is a little hard to imagine. I think it would terrify me to be sealed up in a cave. Suppose you had a blow-out?»

«Holding fifteen pounds pressure is no problem; engineers work in thousands of pounds per square inch. Anyhow, Luna City is compartmented like a ship. It's safe enough. The Dutch live behind dikes; down in Mississippi they have levees. Subways, ocean liners, aircraft – they're all artificial ways of living. Luna City seems strange just because it's far away.»