When Gleda stopped the bleeding and he was on his feet, someone asked Lyra for a song and the cry was taken up by all. I caught a glimpse of the five Venerians' round eyes peering at us out of the kitchenette. But Gleda was saving them for the last--the _piece de resistance_. Lyra tore down a drapery and staggering a bit from two or three too many alkie-and-treacles, wrapped herself in it from head to foot. There was a shocked sort of gasp from the watchers. Professor Cripps turned red under his yellow paint. Gleda put a tape on the MusiKall and Lyra went into her act. I've never seen anything like it. Swaying like a cobra, her bare feet pounding out the beat on the plastic floor, she raised the temperature about ten degrees in that room. Her green painted lips twisted in agony, her eyes rolled in the chromatic mask of her face. An old folk tune--not the sort of thing she generally did. Something that really tore at the heartstrings. A song that dated centuries back. History and the sense of our way of life lived in that room for a few short moments. Her voice was a blood-stirring trumpet-- "Mairzy Doats and Lammsy Doats And little kiddsie Divy-- A Kiddlee Tivy Tooo Wouldn't you--?" When it was over, there was a breathless hush in the room. I wondered where in the world Gleda had gotten that MusiKall tape--It had probably cost her plenty. There was only one thing, I thought, that could top that. "Gleda," I said. "_Now._" Besides if the gooks didn't earn their prots, what about my fee? I was already losing protein on this deal. Passage to Venus isn't cheap. The Venerians trooped in and squatted on the floor while Gleda made the introductions. The room began to smell very like an embalming room must smell. "May I present Clare, Vivian, Gail, Evelyn and little Jean. They're going to sing for us." Cheers from the guests. I glanced triumphantly at Pancho. The Professor seemed fascinated. "And," added Gleda archly, "they may even tumble for us." The Venerians looked at one another, tittered and flushed dark green. I was glad to see they were all on friendly terms with Jean. Clare struck an attitude, crest erect, and waited until everyone quit shuffling around. Presently, they sang. I think it was singing. Very cultural. Very esoteric. Also very noisy. It sounded rather like they were all in pain. After what seemed to me a very long time, they grew silent. There was a smattering of discontented applause. Gleda glared at me. I looked at Thais in dismay. "They also dance," she said weakly. "Yes," Pancho said. "Let's see them dance!" "By all means," Gleda said, still eyeing me. "Dance, fellows," I said hopefully. Jean came over to me and whispered: "Are you sure it will be all right?" "Do you want to ruin me? Dance. Tumble. Do something." Jean shrugged and went back to where the Venerians squatted. "He says dance."