Dinner must have always been at the same appointed time in the Hewett-Prentice ménage, for at the very moment that Gail, Martha, and I took our seats, Russ walked in the door and sat in the chair at the head of the table. “Pass the bread and butter if you please, Sherwood” were the first words he spoke.

“It gets a little warm in the dining room this time of year, because of the angle of the sun through the windows,” said Gail’s mother. “You fellows take off your jackets if you like.”

Russ grunted gratefully and draped his jacket over the back of his chair. I wasn’t too warm but felt I should do the same.

Clearly, Hewett liked to set a substantial table, and Martha did him proud. We started with steak scallone, which was a kind of seafood meat loaf made from a purée of shrimp and abalone that Martha then cut into slices and pan-fried. A boiled brisket of beef in a sweet-sour vinegar sauce was brought out alongside a gravy boat of fresh grated horseradish, along with bowls of buttered parsnips, creamed cauliflower, boiled potatoes, and spring peas. A dimpled bottle of Roma Dry Sauterne was set out on the table, but no one was moved to disturb the dust on it.

“They were setting up for some sort of festival in the park next week. Looks like a pretty big to-do.” He frowned as he stabbed his fork at a browned slice of the sautéed scallone. “Don’t like the feel of it one bit.”

“What kind of festival?” asked Gail.

“Whole thing is supposed to be, you know, German heritage, German culture. To compensate for the bad name they say they’re getting from Hitler and from the president, who they say is prejudiced against German Americans. Only in their speeches, they’re calling F.D.R. ‘President Frank D. Rosenburg’ and calling his economic plan ‘the Jew Deal.’ That’s not right. Look, I’m voting for Willkie this year, but still, he’s our president.” His displeasure didn’t harm his appetite, as he filched the last two remaining slices of the scallone from the serving plate. “Could be terrible publicity for the Oakland area, and for the fair.”

Martha asked in a dry tone, “Is that why it’s wrong, Russ? Because it would be terrible for the fair?”

Russ made quick work of the food before him. “Just plain terrible. And right up the street from us. They’re expecting thousands.”

Gail was studiously cutting her food into neat pieces without actually eating anything. “There’s nothing illegal about what they’re doing,” she said.

“But we’re on England’s side,” said her mother.

“We’re not supposed to be,” said Gail. “We’re supposed to be neutral. It’s the only hope we have of not getting dragged into this terrible mess in Europe.”