"Then there was the drive-in theater. You only got five thousand out of my father for that. But that went down the drain, too, like all your other million-dollar ideas. What was it that time? You figured you could buck the motion-picture projectionists' union? And then--" Mickey Groff cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me, Polly. You're embarrassing everybody." Polly laughed gently. "I'm sorry. But really, I hate to see my husband go off like this again." Groff said to Chesbro, "Like I say, I don't want to butt in; but remember what McCue said about the curfew, Chesbro. I happen to have been around when the national guardsmen got their orders; I wouldn't go out there if I were you." Mrs. Goudeket said heavily, "That's right, Mr. Chesbro. I was down by the motor-pool place, and they've got guns and--" "Now you just listen to me!" It was Sharon Froman, her eyes flashing, her face a Valkyrie face. "Arthur Chesbro knows what he's doing, and it isn't up to any of us to try to stop him! You make me sick, all of you. I spent the whole day with Arthur and Congressman Akslund and, believe me, the congressman knows Arthur understands how to do things. And if Arthur's all right with the congressman, I don't see why he shouldn't be all right with a wet-behind-the-ears kid--" Dick McCue's jaw dropped open--"or a fat old biddy--" Mrs. Goudeket began to sputter--"or a mental case--" Polly Chesbro only nodded judiciously, but Mickey Groff sat up straight and cut in. "Just a minute, Miss Froman!" he started; but he couldn't make himself heard. They were all talking at once-- To Sharon Froman. Nobody paying any attention to Artie Chesbro at all. By the time anyone got around to paying attention to Artie, he wasn't there. * * * * * He closed the door quietly behind him and walked out the main door, nodding pleasantly to the guardsman, across the street to the car pool. It was all going so well, he thought dreamily, so very well. He even managed a little wry chuckle of amusement about the silly spectacle his wife had made of herself. That silly old business of the television station! That ridiculous story about the drive-in theater! But he could afford good-humoredly to overlook her raking up those long dead scores, because everything was going very well indeed. Curfew? Not a problem, he thought with satisfaction, not as long as he had been wise and clever enough to pick up Mrs. Goudeket's trip ticket. The car was his now--he'd just have to say Mrs. Goudeket had sent him. He wouldn't be on foot for any length of time, and no one would bother him in the car, with a regulation trip ticket. The whole world was well within his grasp, he realized with satisfaction and joy.