His father was wearing the same black best-suit he had worn when they
had parted five years ago. It had been new then; now it was shabby and
had acquired a permanent wrinkle across the right hip, over the
pistol-butt. Charley was carrying a gun, too; the belt and holster
looked as though he had made them himself. His mother's dress was new
and so was Flora's--probably made for the occasion. He couldn't be sure
just which of the Terran Federation services had provided the material,
but Charley's shirt was Medical Service sterilon.
Ashamed that he was noticing and thinking of such things at a time like
this, he clasped his father's hand and kissed his mother and Flora.
Everybody was talking at once, saying things that he heard only as happy
sounds. His brother's words were the first that penetrated as words.
"You didn't know me," Charley was accusing. "Don't deny it; I saw you
standing there wondering if I was Flora's new boy friend or what."
"Well, how in Niflheim'd you expect me to? You've grown up since the
last time I saw you. You're looking great, kid!" He caught the gleam of
Lynne's golden hair beyond Charley's shoulder and pushed him gently
aside.
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