It was another quiet morning. Agatha considered it a classical example of a West Sharton saturday. There was never much noise here, except some weekends around the new hotel. Not that Agatha minded a dance now and again, and it was nice that most shops in town had more business after the new aeroport had been built. She knew her father was very happy about it. ‘Listen to that!’, he would comment on the few occasions one of the ships would vent it’s engines above the town, ‘Sound of progress that is! And of cash!’ He had recently put up a sign advertising ‘travel accessories’ on his leatherwork shop, and had a steady stream of travellers visiting now.