Half an hour before, whileshe had been engrossedin the current soap operaand Harry Junior was screamingin his crib, Melinda would naturallyhave slammed the front doorin the little man's face. However,when the bell rang, she waswearing her new Chinese redhousecoat, had just lustered hernails to a blinding scarlet, andHarry Junior was sleeping like anangel.
Yawning, Melinda answeredthe door and the little man said,beaming, "Excellent day. I havegeegaws for information."
Melinda did not quite recoil.He was perhaps five feet tall,with a gleaming hairless scalpand a young-old face. He worea plain gray tunic, and a peddler'stray hung from his thinshoulders.
"Don't want any," Melindastated flatly.
"Please." He had great, beseechingamber eyes. "They allsay that. I haven't much time. Imust be back at the Universityby noon."
"You working your waythrough college?"
He brightened. "Yes. I supposeyou could call it that. Alienanthropology major."
Melinda softened. The initiationsthose frats pulled nowadays—shavingthe poor guy's head,eating goldfish—it was criminal.
"Well?" she asked grudgingly."What's in the tray?"
"Flanglers," said the little maneagerly. "Oscilloscopes. Portableforce-field generators. A neuraldistorter." Melinda's face wasblank. The little man frowned."You use them, of course? Thisis a Class IV culture?" Melindaessayed a weak shrug and thelittle man sighed with relief. Hiseyes fled past her to the blankscreen of the TV set. "Ah, amonitor." He smiled. "For a momentI was afraid—May I comein?"
Melinda shrugged, openedthe door. This might be interesting,like a vacuum-cleanersalesman who had cleaned herdrapes last week for free. AndKitty Kyle Battles Life wouldn'tbe on for almost an hour.
"My name is Porteous," saidthe little man with an eager smile."I'm doing a thematic on ClassIV cultures." He whipped out astylus, began jotting down notes.The TV set fascinated him.
"It's turned off right now,"Melinda said.
Porteous's eyes widened impossibly."You mean," he whisperedin horror, "that you're exercisingClass V privileges? This is terriblyconfusing. I get doorsslammed in my face, when ClassFours are supposed to have asplendid gregarian quotient—youdo have atomic power, don'tyou?"
"Oh, sure," said Melinda uncomfortably.This wasn't going tobe much fun.
"Space travel?" The little facewas intent, sharp.
"Well," Melinda yawned, lookingat the blank screen, "they'vegot Space Patrol, Space Cadet,Tales of Tomorrow ..."
"Excellent. Rocket ships orforce-fields?" Melinda blinked."Does your husband own one?"Melinda shook her blonde headhelplessly. "What are your economiccircumstances?"
Melinda took a deep raspingbreath, said, "Listen, mister, isthis a demonstration or a quizprogram?"
"Oh, my excuse. Demonstration,certainly. You will not mindthe questions?"
"Questions?" There was anominous glint in Melinda's blueeyes.
"Your delightful primitive customs,art-forms, personal habits—"
"Look," Melinda said, crimsoning."This is a respectableneighborhood, and I'm not answeringany Kinsey report, understand?"
The little man nodded, scribbling."Personal habits are tabu?I so regret. The demonstration."He waved grandly at the tray."Anti-grav sa