“Madam,” the cook said wearily, “after her third antigrav I had to trip her up and crown her. She was about to climb the bar and corner my barman.” Ross looked at her fixedly. She stopped crying and nervously cleared her throat. “So if you’ll just let us through,” the cook bustled, seizing the psychological moment of doubt. His enormous belly bulldozed a lane for them. “Beg pardon. Excuse us. Madam, will you—thank you. Beg pardon——” The lynchers were beginning to drift away, embarrassed. The party had collapsed. “Faster,” the cook hissed at them. “Beg pardon——” And they were in the clear and well down the street. “Thank you, Sir,” Helena said humbly. “Just ‘Willie’, _if_ you please,” the fat man said. One hand descended on Ross’s shoulder and another on Helena’s. They both belonged to the virago. She spun them around, glaring. “_I’m_ not satisfied with the brush-off,” she snapped. “Exactly what did you mean by that remark you made?” Helena wailed, “It’s just that you and all these other women here seem so _young_.” The virago’s granite face softened. She let go and tucked in a strand of steel-wool hair. “Did you really think so, dear?” she asked, beaming. “There, I’m sorry I got excited. A wee bit jealous, were you? Well, we’re broad-minded here in Novj Grad.” She patted Helena’s arm and walked off, smiling and jaunty. Virgin Willie led off and they followed him. Ross’s knees were shaky. The virago had not known that to Helena “young” meant “stupid.” The cook absently acknowledged smiles and nods as they walked. He was, obviously, a character. Between salutes he delivered a low-voiced, rapid-fire reaming to Ross and Helena. “Silly stunt. Didn’t you hear about the riots? Supposed to be arms caches somewhere here on the south side. Everybody’s nerves absolutely ragged. Somebody gets smashed up in traffic, they blame it on us. Don’t care _where_ you’re from. Watch it next time.” “We will, Willie,” Helena said contritely. “And I think you run an awfully nice restaurant.” “Yeah,” said Ross, looking at her. Willie muttered, “I guess you’re clear. You still staying at that hot pilot’s hangout? This is where we say good-by, then. You turn left.” He waddled on down the street. Helena said instantly, “I don’t remember a thing, Ross.” “Okay,” he said. “You don’t remember a thing.” She looked relieved and said brightly, “So let’s get back to the hotel.” “Okay,” he said. Climbed the bar and tried to corner the.... Halfway to the hotel he slowed, then stopped, and said, “I just thought of something. Maybe we’re not staying there any more. After last night why should Breuer carry us on her tab? I thought we’d have some money to carry us from the Cavallos by now——” “The ship?” she asked in a small voice. “Across the continent. Hell! Maybe Breuer forgave and forgot. Let’s try, anyway.”