“Clops? --Oh, crops,” the teapot man stuttered, as Etsuko bristled. “We are glowing... er, growing.. we are growing... er...” He glanced frantically in all directions... “SAND! Yes indeed, that is what we are growing, is sand.”

“Indeed, so truly true,” burbled the birdnest man. “Innocent sand farmers we are, like our fathers and grandfathers before us. Great patience is needful to grow a good clop, er, crop of sand.”

I looked around the surrounding dunes: “It looks as though you have a surplus, anyway,” I observed. “Now, about that soda fountain...”

•

“Oh, no, fair accursed Infidel sexpot, no surplus!” Interrupted the teapot man earnestly. “That is last year’s crop, quite inferior, but we are stockpiling it until the price goes up with wartime shortages, oh yes indeedy-deed..!”

•

“Excellent capitalist thinking,” I said. “Now about that soda...”