“Not really proud; more like belonging. I can’t imagine living in any other house.”

Taine turned on the burner and filled the kettle. Carrying the kettle back, he kicked the stove. But there wasn’t any need to kick it; the burner was already beginning to take on a rosy glow.

Twice in a row, Taine thought. This thing is getting better!

“Gee, Hiram,” said Beasly, “this is a dandy radio.”

“It’s no good,” said Taine. “It’s broke. Haven’t had the time to fix it.”

“I don’t think so, Hiram. I just turned it on. It’s beginning to warm up.”

“It’s beginning to—Hey, let me see!” yelled Taine.

Beasly told the truth. A faint hum was coming from the tubes.

A voice came in, gaining in volume as the set warmed up.

It was speaking gibberish.

“What kind of talk is that?” asked Beasly.

“I don’t know,” said Taine, close to panic now.

First the television set, then the stove and now the radio!

He spun the tuning knob and the pointer crawled slowly across the dial face instead of spinning across as he remembered it, and station after station sputtered and went past.

He tuned in the next station that came up and it was strange lingo, too—and he knew by then exactly what he had.

Instead of a $39.50 job, he had here on the kitchen table an all-band receiver like they advertised in the fancy magazines.

He straightened up and said to Beasly: “See if you can get someone speaking English. I’ll get on with the eggs.”

He turned on the second burner and got out the frying pan. He put it on the stove and found eggs and bacon in the refrigerator.

Beasly got a station that had band music playing.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“That’s fine,” said Taine.

Towser came out from the bedroom, stretching and yawning. He went to the door and showed he wanted out.