"Scotch and soda." "Order it yourself--and order me a coffee." He went to the phone. I cut one more line, and then tidied up the bridge table, stacking things so I could start in quickly where I had left off. "I didn't know you were in town," I said. "I didn't know you were. Took a chance. I had to see a gook who lives near here--so I stopped in. How's Ricky? Recovered now?" "Swell." "What you down for? Cheating?" "Work." He considered that, pinching the flared nostrils of a long nose, peering luminously over his fist, wrinkling his forehead. "It's possible, anyhow. You're getting pretty old." "I'm not too old to take you on, Spare-ribs." His dark eyes twinkled. "No. You're getting oaken, Phil. Late maturing and frost resistant. Someday, though, I'll be like that myself--and then you'll be a wizzled shard who goes around feeling young girls. I'll bring over a pretty one to bait you up, and when you reach for her, I'll wallop you till they have to put you in an iron lung." "By God, I believe you will!" I was laughing. "How's physics?" His face became taut. "Don't you know Congress will crucify you for merely asking?" Paul worked for Johann Brink, at the Belleau Lab. For the Atomic Energy Commission. Brink had picked him from a prepared slate of geniuses at M.I.T., Caltech, and several other schools. Paul was that good. I said, "Congress has got one of my arms pinned down already and a hole in my foot, besides. If you don't want to tell me how physics is--I'll tell you. Put it this way. There was an atmosphere at Eniwetok you didn't like--" "What do you know about that?" he said swiftly.