The Governor shook out the papers, and my heart played tag with my shoestrings. The CC's publicity department had done a magnificent job. Those natural color photographs were luscious enough to make the mouth of the rankest amateur gardener water. Gay yellows and soft blues ... brilliant splotches of crimson ... dainty, sunny marigolds ... shy nodding violets ... that pamphlet was a tempting hunk of stuff. But I had been wrong in thinking the Governor of Iapetus could be bribed. He was an honest man. He turned to Cap Hanson. "And you, Captain? Have you a similar brochure?" The Old Man scrubbed his jaw feebly. "Why ... er ... the truth is, Your Honor--" he began. It was then Lancelot Biggs stepped forward, interrupting the skipper. "The truth is, Governor," he said blandly, "_our_ Company does not depend on printed booklets to sell its products. There is, you surely realize, a certain amount of artistic falsification--or should I simply call it 'artistic license'?--employed in reproducing facsimiles of living objects. Therefore, in order to sell _our_ goods we always attempt to offer a living example of our product. "I have here--" He dug into his jacket pocket and brought forth a bulging waxine envelope--"the bud of one of our most gorgeous blooms, the famous _Rosa rugosa_. You can see for yourself--" With the look of a proud papa he opened the flap of the envelope, started to withdraw his single rosebud, and--stopped suddenly. A look of startled alarm drained his face of all color. He whispered, "But--but this--" "Go on, lad," prodded the Old Man. "Show 'em. You got a bud there, ain't you? Well, show 'em." But Biggs didn't show 'em. Instead, he closed the envelope again, slipped it back into his coat pocket, and his liquescent larynx bobbled frantically as he said, "I--I'm sorry, gentlemen. I haven't anything to show you." "Why?" I demanded. "Lanse, for gosh sakes, _why_? What's happened to--" He turned to me haggardly. "The bud--" he choked--"_died_!" * * * * * Well, I'll hand it to that Governor. He was not only honest; he was so fair and square you could have used him for a measuring rod. He said consolingly, "That's too bad, Mr. Biggs. But accidents will happen. Is there anything further you have to say on behalf of your product?" "I got plenty to say!" stormed the Skipper. "Just on account of one bud died don't mean we ain't got--" "Excuse me, Skipper," interrupted Lancelot Biggs mildly. "I--I think the time for deceit has passed." "_What!_ What's that?" "I think the governor should be told the truth," said Biggs. "We should confess that our seeds are not a first class product. Might not, indeed, even flourish in the soil of Iapetus." "Lanse!" I cried. "Do you know what you're saying? Don't talk like that!"