"Thank you," he said. "We can go to the Milo Club. In return for the favor, I can promise you that before Thanksgiving you will receive three large Plymouth Rock chickens of unusual tenderness and flavor." He picked up a magazine and read while waiting. Gramenger, when he saw Harvey, leaned back in his chair scrubbing a meaty chin. He remarked he was pleased to meet Harvey, but he couldn't place the name, and did not understand how Harvey had got into the office without a prior appointment. Harvey said these details did not matter, but that what did matter was that he was here to make a financial settlement with the firm rather than, later on, to bring suit against the firm for a sum of one million dollars. Gramenger's eyebrows went up. He smiled faintly, letting his glance rove over Harvey's stained leather space jacket and spotted denims. "I'm sure I'd like to hear your story," he said. "I may as well inform you, however, that any claims against the company must be laid before the legal department." Harvey stood at the desk looking down. "I'm an abrupt man, sir," he said. "I do things quickly, and then they're over. I have no liking for red tape or legal maneuvers. If my business is not settled before I leave this office within the next hour, you may expect to go to court and lose much more than the meager damages settlement I am asking." "Damages for what?" Gramenger frowned irritably. His chair came down with a bang. "If you think you can pull a fast one with the firm of Gramenger & Lewis--" Harvey broke in. He told Gramenger about his planet Plymouth. He showed his papers of ownership. He described the orbit. He showed where the planet would intersect the plane of the ecliptic in one week, seven hours, twenty-eight minutes, and some seconds. He showed the official seal from the Claims Office proving that this was so. "Your liner _Hermes_," he said, "will intersect the orbit of the planet Plymouth some 17,000 miles from Plymouth. The atomic wash from the _Hermes'_ drivers will infect space for 100,000 miles around; this is standard knowledge and has been proved in court. Legal precedent has also established that nucleonic, gravitonic, or positronic infection of planetary farmlands constitutes a serious misdemeanor for which damages, both punitive and otherwise, may be sought." Gramenger grinned. "Let me see those papers." He looked them over, chuckling. Once he looked up. * * * * * "Planetary farmlands, huh? And this planet is a hunk of rock out in space. Frozen. Only 483 miles in diameter. No atmosphere." He scooped up the interoffice 'phone. "Phil!" he said. "Get up here. I want you to prove something to a loco joking yokel I've got up here in the office." He hung up. "That's my lawyer," he said, leaning back and folding his hands over his capacious stomach. "Too bad. Maybe you'll learn a lesson from this." "May I ask what your birthday is?" Harvey asked.