"I understand," he said gruffly. "You accept contributions." She nodded. "If the donor is able to give. We don't ask so much that you'll have to compromise your standard of living." But she named a sum that would force him to do just that if getting to Tunney 21 took any appreciable time. He stared at her unhappily. "I suppose it's worth it. I can always work, if I have to." "As a salesman?" she asked. "I'm afraid you'll find it difficult to do business with Godolphians." Irony wasn't called for at a time like this, he thought reproachfully. "Not just another salesman," he answered definitely. "I have special knowledge of customer reactions. I can tell exactly--" He stopped abruptly. Was she baiting him? For what reason? The instrument he called Dimanche was not known to the Galaxy at large. From the business angle, it would be poor policy to hand out that information at random. Aside from that, he needed every advantage he could get. Dimanche was his special advantage. "Anyway," he finished lamely, "I'm a first class engineer. I can always find something in that line." "A scientist, maybe," murmured Murra Foray. "But in this part of the Milky Way, an engineer is regarded as merely a technician who hasn't yet gained practical experience." She shook her head. "You'll do better as a salesman." He got up, glowering. "If that's all--" "It is. We'll keep you informed. Drop your contribution in the slot provided for that purpose as you leave." A door, which he hadn't noticed in entering the counselling cubicle, swung open. The agency was efficient. "Remember," the counselor called out as he left, "identification is hard to work with. Don't accept a crude forgery." He didn't answer, but it was an idea worth considering. The agency was also eminently practical. The exit path guided him firmly to an inconspicuous and yet inescapable contribution station. He began to doubt the philanthropic aspect of the bureau. * * * * * "I've got it," said Dimanche as Cassal gloomily counted out the sum the first counselor had named. "Got what?" asked Cassal. He rolled the currency into a neat bundle, attached his name, and dropped it into the chute. "The woman, Murra Foray, the first counselor. She's a Huntner." "What's a Huntner?" "A sub-race of men on the other side of the Galaxy. She was vocalizing about her home planet when I managed to locate her." "Any other information?" "None. Electronic guards were sliding into place as soon as I reached her. I got out as fast as I could." "I see." The significance of that, if any, escaped him. Nevertheless, it sounded depressing. "What I want to know is," said Dimanche, "why such precautions as electronic guards? What does Travelers Aid have that's so secret?" Cassal grunted and didn't answer. Dimanche could be annoyingly inquisitive at times.