Harry’s father would tell him to order anything he wanted from the menu: steak and Irish potatoes, chicken and dumplings, hot apple pie. He’d claim, as he always did on these trips, he was proud of his son, and maybe as a treat back in the room he’d offer Harry a sip of warm choc beer. The bottle, Andrew’s “after-dinner blessing,” was stuffed in the leather grip they shared that didn’t shut all the way. But before any meals Harry had to give his speech. Anadarko, Oklahoma, a townsite of two thousand folks or so, was hot and humid this early May afternoon. The tradesmen rubbed their eyes with dirty plaid bandannas. It wasn’t likely they’d stop to hear a serious talk, Andrew had warned Harry. They’d want to get their business done and go home. Besides the market, Harry had to compete with the comet. Any hour now Earth would pass through its tail. The experts Andrew had seen quoted in the papers didn’t know if this would harm the atmosphere. Two years ago they’d detected toxic gas in Comet Morehouse; this new visitor, speeding much closer to the planet, might trigger influenza outbreaks.
