The answer came to me then. I put the bills into my pocket and kissed her. "We will not have to eat soy-bean hamburger, o-doll. And I will take you to Mars for your second honeymoon--as soon as they start passenger service. I am going out to make a down payment on the tickets right now." * * * * * Uncle Johnson took the glass from his eye. He looked very tense, like a fisherman with a prize catch on a very thin line. "It's good," he said, and his voice trembled a little. "I--suppose your time machine worked?" "Surprised, are you, Uncle?" "Yes, yes. But I see your situation, Ted. You, of course, can't afford to hold these for thirty years. Now--ah--I can. And I'll be glad to help you out by taking them off your hands. Naturally I have to hold them a long time, so--let's say twenty dollars a thousand?" "Let's not say that." I took the bill from his hand. "I figure fifty is a fair price. There'll be lots more, Uncle. And, as you say, I am always broke and cannot afford to put them away for my old age. But running the time machine is expensive and I can't afford to take less than fifty." He looked as if he were going to snatch the bill right out of my hand, he was so eager. "All right, Ted, I realize there are expenses. Thirty-five." We compromised on forty. "But I want a promise," he said emphatically. "I'm to be the only one you sell these bills to!" "You reach me, o-uncle." I handed him the bills. "You're deep, man. Real deep!" Real deep in the hole, that is--he mortgaged his house and his regular inventory to buy up all the money I began taking in. Once we redeemed the wedding ring and all the other articles, I got to feeling mellow and even a bit grateful. He'd started me in business, so to speak. I couldn't stick him with all those millions that would just about buy him a helicab ride to the poorhouse in 1988. So when Marilyn and I got just as deep in the black, because the Society members gave us some books on stock-market statistics, I started giving Uncle tips every now and then. Not free, of course--I asked for half and we settled on seventy-thirty. With that plus the ones I bought, both for now and the long pull, I guess we're the only people living today who can be sure of having a second honeymoon on Mars, although Solid Chuck Richards tells me he hears Mars is overrated, there not being a juke on the whole planet, and even if there were you couldn't jump to any decent kind of beat in that low gravity. I wouldn't say so to Solid Chuck Richards, but that sounds like absolute zero to me. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Security Plan, by Joseph Farrell