He bit his lip. "Thanks, Gus," he said. "You are a real friend." * * * * * Sam blocked the doorway with his shoulders as he entered the room. Doran followed like a diminutive tug pushing a very large liner. They closed the door. Matheny stood up, avoiding Sam's glare. "Okay, louse," said Sam. "You got a better pal here than you deserve, but he ain't managed to talk me into settling for nothing." "Let me get this--I mean--well," said Matheny. "Look, sir, you claim that I, I mean that your wife and I were, uh, well, we weren't. I was only visiting--" "Stow it, stow it." Sam towered over the Martian. "Shoot it to the Moon. You had your fun. It'll cost you. One million dollars." "_One mil_--But--but--Gus," wailed Matheny, "this is out of all reason! I thought you said--" Doran shrugged. "I am sorry, Pete. I could not get him any farther down. He started asking fifty. You better pay him." "No!" Matheny scuttled behind a chair. "No, look here! I, Peter Matheny of the Martian Republic, declare you are blackmailing me!" "I'm asking compensation for damages," growled Sam. "Hand it over or I'll go talk to a lawyer. That ain't blackmail. You got your choice, don't you?" Matheny wilted. "Yes." "A megabuck isn't so bad, Pete," soothed Doran. "I personally will see that you earn it back in--" "Oh, never mind." Tears stood in Matheny's eyes. "You win." He took out his checkbook. "None of that," rapped Sam. "Cash. Now." "But you claimed this was a legitimate--" "You heard me." "Well--could I have a receipt?" begged Matheny. Sam grinned. "I just thought I'd ask," said Matheny. He opened a drawer and counted out one hundred ten-kilo-buck bills. "There! And, and, and I hope you choke on it!" Sam stuffed the money in a pocket and lumbered out. Doran lingered. "Look here, Pete," he said, "I will make this up to you. Honest. All you have got to do is trust me." "Sure." Matheny slumped on the bed. "Not your fault. Let me alone for a while, will you?" "Listen, I will come back in a few hours and buy you the best dinner in all the Protectorates and--" "Sure," said Matheny. "Sure." Doran left, closing the door with great gentleness. * * * * * He returned at 1730, entered, and stopped dead. The floor space was half taken up by a screen and a film projector. "What happened, Pete?" he asked uncertainly. Matheny smiled. "I took some tourist movies," he said. "Self-developing soundtrack film. Sit down and I'll show you." "Well, thanks, but I am not so much for home movies." "It won't take long. Please." Doran shrugged, found a chair and took out a cigarette. "You seem pretty well cheered up now," he remarked. "That is a spirit I like to see. You have got to have faith." "I'm thinking of a sideline business in live photography," said the Martian. "Get back my losses of today, you know."