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recorded.”
    “That’s silly. They won’t take it, I tell you. We can’t homestead Lummox. He’s not a piece of land.”
    “A man can homestead a cow, two horses, a dozen pigs. A carpenter can homestead his tools. An actress can homestead her wardrobe.”
    “But that’s not ‘homesteading.’ I took the same course in commercial law that you did. They’ll laugh at you.”
    “Don’t quibble. It’s section II of the same law. If you were exhibiting Lummie in a carnival, he’d be the ‘tools of your trade,’ wouldn’t he? It’s up to them to prove he isn’t. The thing is to register Lummox as exempt from lien before somebody gets a judgment against you.”
    “If they can’t collect from me, they’ll collect from my mother.”
    “No, they won’t. I checked that. Since your father put the money in a trust, legally she hasn’t got a dime.”
    “Is that the law?” he asked doubtfully.
    “Oh, hurry up! The law is whatever you can convince a court it is.”
    “Betty, you’ve got a twisted mind.” He slid out between the bars, turned and said, “Lummie, I’ll only be gone a minute. You stay right here.”
    “Why?” asked Lummox.
    “Never mind ‘why.’ You wait for me here.”
    “All right.”
    There was a crowd on the courthouse lawn, people gawking at Lummox in his new notoriety. Chief Dreiser had ordered rope barriers erected and a couple of his men were present to see that they were respected, The two young people ducked under the ropes and pushed through the crowd to the courthouse steps. The county clerk’s office was on the second floor; there they found his chief deputy, an elderly maiden lady.
    Miss Schreiber took the same view of registering Lummox as free from judgment that John Thomas did. But Betty pointed out that it was not up to the county clerk to decide what was an eligible chattel under the law, and cited an entirely fictitious case about a man who homesteaded a multiple echo. Miss Schreiber reluctantly filled out forms, accepted the modest fee, and gave them a certified copy.
    It was almost ten o’clock. John Thomas hurried out and started downstairs. He stopped when he saw that Betty had paused at a penny weighing machine. “Come on, Betty,” he demanded. “This is no time for that.”
    “I’m not weighing myself,” she answered while staring into the mirror attached to it. “I’m checking my makeup. I’ve got to look my best.”
    “You look all right.”
    “Why, Johnnie, a compliment!”
    “It wasn’t a compliment. Hurry up. I’ve got to tell Lummox something.”
    “Throttle back and hold at ten thousand. I’ll bring you in.” She wiped off her eyebrows, painted them back in the smart Madame Satan pattern, and decided that it made her look older. She considered adding a rolling-dice design on her right cheek, but skipped it as Johnnie was about to boil over. They hurried down and outdoors.
    More moments were wasted convincing a policeman that they belonged inside the barrier. Johnnie saw that two men were standing by Lummox’s cage. He broke into a run. “Hey! You two! Get away from there!”
    Judge O’Farrell turned around and blinked. “What is your interest, young man?” The other man turned but said nothing.
    “Me? Why, I’m his owner. He’s not used to strangers. So go back of the rope, will you?” He turned to Lummox. “It’s all right, baby. Johnnie’s here.”
    “Howdy, Judge.”
    “Oh. Hello, Betty.” The judge looked at her as if trying to decide why she was present, then turned to John Thomas. “You must be the Stuart boy. I’m Judge O’Farrell.”
    “Oh. Excuse me, Judge,” John Thomas answered, his ears turning pink. “I thought you were a sightseer.”
    “A natural error. Mr. Greenberg, this is the Stuart boy… John Thomas Stuart. Young man, this is the Honorable Sergei Greenberg, Special Commissioner for the Department of Spatial Affairs.” He looked around. “Oh yes…this is Miss Betty Sorenson, Mr. Commissioner.