The quiet and smoothly efficient waiter, who served at all the Black Widowers' banquets, was at his side at once without seeming to have moved in order to have achieved that. ' 'Yes, sir?"

"Henry," said Avalon, "what are these strange manifestations?' '

Henry said, "Tonight we will have a buffet dinner. The chef has prepared a variety of Indian and Pakistani dishes."

"With curry?"

"Rather heavy on the curry, sir. It was Mr. Trumbull's special request."

Trumbull flared under Avalon's accusing eye. "I wanted curry and I'm the host."

"And Manny won't eat it and will be unbearable."

Trumbull shrugged.

Rubin was not entirely unbearable but he was loud, and only Roger Halsted seemed unaffected by the Rubinian tirade against all things Indian. He said, "A buffet is a good idea," patted his lips with his napkin and went back for a third help-ing of everything, with a beatific smile on his face.

Trumbull said, "Roger, if you don't stop eating, we'll start the grilling session over your chewing."

"Go ahead," said Halsted, cheerfully. "I don't mind."

"You will later tonight," said Rubin, "when your stomach-wall burns through."

Trumbull said, "And you're going to start the grilling."

"If you don't mind my talking with my mouth full," said Halsted.

"Get started, then."

Halsted said thickly, "How do you justify your existence, Milton?"

"I can't," said Peterborough, a little breathlessly. "Maybe after I get my degrees."

"What's your school and major?"

"Columbia and chemistry."

"Chemistry?" said Halsted. "I would have thought it was English. Didn't I gather during the cocktail hour that you were an aspiring writer?"

"Anyone is allowed to be an aspiring writer," said Peterborough.

"Aspiring," said Rubin, darkly.

"And what do you want to write?" said Halsted.

Peterborough hesitated and said, with a trace of defensive-ness in his voice, "Well, I've always been a science fiction fan. Since I was nine, anyway."