"Moving down to Fort Roye?" Beulah pursed her thin lips. "Goodness,
Phil, I do hate to disappoint you again, but I'd be completely out of
place in a town apartment."
"Dr. Fitzsimmons would be pleased," Phil remarked.
"Oh, him! Fitz is another old worry wart. What he wants is to get me
into the hospital. Nothing doing!"
Phil shook his head helplessly, laughed. "After all, working a tupa
ranch--"
"Nonsense. The ranch is just enough bother to be interesting. The
appliances do everything anyway, and Susan is down here every morning
for a chat and to make sure I'm still all right. She won't admit that,
of course, but if she thinks something should be taken care of, the
whole Feeney family shows up an hour later to do it. There's really no
reason for you to be sending a dozen men up from Fort Roye every two
months to harvest the tupa."
Phil shrugged. "No one's ever yet invented an easy way to dig up those
roots. And the CLU's glad to furnish the men."
"Because you're its president?"
"Uh-huh."
"It really doesn't cost you anything?" Beulah asked doubtfully.
"Not a cent."
* * *
"Hm-m-m. Been meaning to ask you. What made you set up that ... Colonial
Labor Union?"