McLeod and Jackson sat down in a couple of comfortable easy-chairs while the Resident went around a large desk and sat down in a swivel chair behind it. He smiled a little and looked at McLeod. "Hm-m-m. Ah, yes. Very good." It was as though he had received information of some kind on an unknown subject through an unknown channel, McLeod thought. Evidently that was true, for his next words were: "You are not under the influence of drugs nor hypnotic compulsion, I see. Excellent, professor. Is it your desire that this check be converted to cash?" He made a small gesture. "You have only to express it, you see. It would be difficult to explain it to you, but rest assured that such an expression of will--while you are sitting in that chair--is impressed upon the structure of the check itself and is the equivalent of a signature. Except, of course, that it is unforgeable." "May I ask a few questions first?" McLeod said. "Certainly, professor. I am here to answer your questions." "This money--is it free and clear, or are there Galactic taxes to pay?" If the Galactic Resident had had eyebrows, it is likely that they would have lifted in surprise. "My dear professor! Aside from the fact that we run our ... er ... government in an entirely different manner, we would consider it quite immoral to take what a man earns without giving services of an exact kind. I will charge you five credits for this validation, since I am rendering a service. The bank will take a full tenth of a percent in this case because of the inconvenience of shipping cash over that long distance. The rest is yours to do with as you see fit." _Fifty-five credits out of fifty thousand_, McLeod thought. _Not bad at all._ Aloud, he asked: "Could I, for instance, open a bank account or buy a ticket on a star-ship?" "Why not? As I said, it is your money. You have earned it honestly; you may spend it honestly." Jackson was staring at McLeod, but he said nothing. "Tell me, sir," McLeod said, "how does the success of my book compare with the success of most books in the galaxy?" "Quite favorably, I understand," said the Resident. "The usual income from a successful book is about five thousand credits a year. Some run even less than that. I'm not too familiar with the publishing business, you understand, but that is my impression. You are, by Galactic standards, a very wealthy man, professor. Fifty thousand a year is by no means a median income." "Fifty thousand a _year_?" "Yes. About that. I understand that in the publishing business one can depend on a life income that does not vary much from the initial period. If a book is successful in one area of the galaxy it will be equally successful in others." "How long does it take to saturate the market?" McLeod asked with a touch of awe.