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Marcia Angio said, “Listen, Honey, this kid of yours is a firebug.”
Hank Angio tossed his jacket onto a floating seat with built-in antigrav unit. The seat bobbed up and down, and drifted slowly across the room. He eyed it sourly.
“99,999,99 inflationeros for that thing. Was I out of my head? If you sneeze, it drifts. If a breeze blows on it, it drifts. When you sit down in it, it bobs up and down and drifts. How is that any better than if it had legs on it?”
“Your little boy,” Marcia reminded him. “The kid built a fire under the 6v.”
“It’s insured. Man, is it hot out there today!”
“Honey, I stopped him, but—”
“Was the 6v on?”
“No-o.”
“There’s your answer. Put it on, then he’ll watch it. He can’t burn it up while he’s watching it.” He gave a little laugh. “He can’t do anything while he’s watching it.”
“He needs a good licking.”
“That’s my idea, too.” He shrugged. “But did you see that show, The Five Hundred Days, last night? They say the Eruption was caused by spanking the kids back then. They’ve got the scientific proof.”
“I don’t want to argue with science,” she said, “but I’m his mother, and I say he needs something, and I think it’s a good licking.”
“Okay, Hon. Try the 6v on him first. If that doesn’t work—”