Ted benteley stood by the kitchen door inhaling warm smells. The Davis house was pleasant and bright. Al Davis, minus his shoes, was sitting contentedly before the television set in the living room. His pretty brown-haired wife, Laura, was preparing dinner.
"If that's protine," Benteley said to her, "it's the best job of adulteration I've smelled."
"We never have protine," Laura answered briskly. "You can taste it no matter how they disguise it. It's terrible costly to buy natural foods, of course, but it's worth it."
"Protine," Al said, overhearing her, "saved the ordinary people from starvation back in the twentieth century. Allow me to pass on a few facts."
"Please do!"
"Protine isn't a natural algae. It's a mutant that started out in culture tanks in the middle East and gradually crept on to a variety of fresh-water surfaces."
"When I go into the bathroom in the morning don't I find the darn stuff growing all over the place?"
"It also grows over the Great Lakes," Al said scientifically.
"Well, this isn't protine," Laura said to Ted. "This is real roast beef, real potatoes and green peas and white rolls."
"You two are living better than when I last saw you," Benteley commented. "What happened?"
"Al jumped a whole class. He beat the Government Quiz; we studied together every night."
"I never heard of anybody beating the Quizzes. Was it mentioned on television?"
Laura frowned resentfully.
"That awful Sam Oster talked about it the whole length of a programme. He's that rabble-rouser who has such a big following."
"Afraid I don't know him," Benteley admitted.
"The Convention," Davis said, indicating the television screen, "are advertising for applicants. Giving quite a bonus."
A vortex of foaming light and colour lapping across the screen symbolized the Challenge Convention. The billowing mass broke apart, then reformed in new combinations.