"Big talk, Doc," sighed Listless when we were seated at a quiet little midtown bar. "But how are you going to do it?" "I dunno," I said, "but give me time." * * * * * We were taking a jog around the track. It being a nice warm sunny day, Listless had decided that what we needed was to work some of the alcohol out of our systems. I objected, but was roped in anyway. Murphy merely sniffed. With his build he was immune. However he said he needed some fresh air so he would come along and hold a timer on us. Listless protested but I said swell. That's Listless for you; "Come on, Doc. Let's run off a couple of fast miles." Sure. Until somebody comes along to check up on him. Then he starts making excuses. But the two of us dragged him along. So here we were on the city track, along with half a dozen other undeveloped individuals, pounding around a cinder path in the park, each of us trying to breathe so the other wouldn't hear and feel the jar clear up to the occiput every time a foot came down. This must be awful on Listless' toes, I thought. He likes to wiggle 'em every time he gets in the pilot seat. On the third lap, Murphy started yelling and swinging his arm. "Come on, Lomack, oil your oleos. Chase him, Doc. You guys are doing time." Listless stuck out his chest and lengthened his stride but soon came back to the old stumble. I'm built pretty light so it didn't bother me much. I just stepped up the pace with him but I didn't slow down when he did. So I was looking at the timer, my head stuck under Murphy's arm when Listless broke an imaginary tape with his nose. "How'd we do?" he panted when he got his breath. "Swell," Outhouse enthused. "Sixty seconds less and you'd have only been a minute over the record." "Oh," said Lomack. "Yeah?" I said. "Oh. And what's more, Listless, you tentacle-toed ape, I got an idea running around that track. I think, I think, I really think, that we can do Dudley dirty." "What is it?" queried Murphy. "I'm not saying yet," I replied. "I've got to think it over for a while and examine the holes." "Moth holes?" said Listless. "Nuts," said I. "Marbles," said Outhouse. "Keep it to yourself, Doc, if you want to." "Well," said Listless slowly, "I bet one thing. I bet whatever it is, I gotta navigate." "You not only gotta navigate," I replied, "you gotta navigate _well_." "Now listen--" "Now listen, nothing," I screeched. "Not only will this bust up Dear Old Dudley's beer combine but it will also be a wonderful, beautiful, perfect demonstration of--" "Of what?" asked Outhouse enticingly. "Never mind," I said cunningly, "we'll let that take care of itself when the time comes." "Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Listless, who got his name because he's lazy, though _he_ says it's because he can hold his liquor, "he's got another half throttled idea which means I'll be back to work at the old slipstick."