"That's the trouble with you, Listless," I said haughtily. "You're limited to the depth of an astroplex navigator. Now take the thoughts of a real scientist." Here I strutted a bit. "You never could understand anything deeper than _Arctic Nights_. But a brain--like me--" I added modestly. "People will stand and point in awe when--" "The model scientist," sneered Lomack, "meaning of course, a small imitation of the real thing." I let out a howl and went for him. We were all set for a nice scrap when Murphy broke it up. "Now," he said, "if you two specimens of would-be manhood are going to shower and dress, get to it. I gotta date." "Glass, bottle or demijohn?" I asked from my tangled position. He stalked off. Then I untangled Listless' fingers from my hair and unwrapped his legs from around my middle, thus taking the pressure off him and letting him up. He took his teeth from around my forefinger and admitted that I had him licked. That's one thing I like about Lomack; when he's beaten he admits it. * * * * * I made a nifty little jog to the locker room while Listless limped along behind. We showered, got our loafer suits out of the lockers, and feeling pretty swell, sauntered out into a soft evening. "Boy," breathed Listless, taking a deep breath as though he hadn't had enough on the track, "this is lovely. Let's go find Murphy." Which meant a bender of course. For, as I have mentioned, Murphy is a man with all the physical capabilities of a three-year-old gorilla on a hashish jag. And if you wonder at the strange figures of speech we sometimes use, it is because Murphy was once an archaeologist who taught languages and made a side line specialty of ancient idioms. Until he got tired of teaching college boys and associating with professors. He was always hurting someone in wrestling, boxing or social intercourse so he finally dropped the whole business and went on a tear. Lomack and I picked him up in a low orbit space dive. He found us not repugnant and we rather enjoyed his finesse in a fight so we stuck together. When he wasn't off on a bat. "Where to?" I asked. "You know better than that," I was admonished. "You mean where first. "Just plain _where_ is even better," I concluded. He took from his pocket a bunch of those little plastic souvenirs they put on bottles--he had plenty of opportunity to swipe them--and picked out five with the names of bars on them. "I'll toss 'em up," he explained, "and you grab one when they come down. That'll be a starter."