Robert Foster was seated in a comfortable chair next to the television set. A single reading lamp was burning--the pipe clutched in Foster's teeth was out--and he seemed deeply engrossed in a good book. Morrow reached up and snapped the fasteners on his helmet. Foster lifted his gaze with the utmost casualness and studied the two figures in the doorway. He looked quite happy and contented, dressed in an old pair of slacks and loafers and a turtle-neck sweater. His dark, touselled hair showed evidence of his hand running through it--a habitual gesture of his, Morrow remembered. Slowly, a stunned expression crept across his face. Morrow swung his helmet back onto his gravitor tank. "Hello, Bob," he said. Foster slipped a marker into his book, closed it, and laid it carefully aside. "Morrow?" he said. "So you finally made it! I might've known you'd be coming by way of Jupiter--but why the get-up, friend? And who's your partner?" There was just the slightest quaver in his voice. It was almost more than Morrow had hoped for. He could play it through, now. "This is a Martian friend of mine," he said, hooking his thumb toward Smitty. "I can't stay long. Somebody might see our spaceship and get curious." "Your--spaceship?" Foster queried falteringly. "We landed it out in back." The room was silent for a moment. Foster sat dumbfounded, staring at them. A flicker of a gleam began to show itself in his eyes. "Am I to understand," he said gently, "that you have landed a spaceship in my back yard?" "No," Morrow corrected. "In the alley." "Hmmm--it'd better be in the alley. My wife would slaughter us both if you'd trampled her gardenias." Foster fell back in his chair. He tried to relax; he even grinned, somewhat shakily. "Now what's the idea, Bill? Why'd you come tippy-toe in here like this? Out with it!" "Take too long to explain," Morrow replied, shaking his head. "Somebody's liable to see that spaceship any minute, now." He forced a broad, innocent grin across his face. "You want to come have a look at it?" "Ye-e-es!" Foster agreed sarcastically, rising from his chair. "I suppose I _should_ take a look at it--" Morrow led him out the front door and around the house. "Don't want to awaken your wife," he explained, clamping down his helmet. "No-o-o-o!" Foster conceded. "I wouldn't advise that!" They proceeded on across the back yard, through the clinging, wet fingers of the mist. Then Foster saw the ship. After that, it wasn't too hard to persuade him to enter it. Then it was simple to switch on the gravitors and rise into the dark sky. Morrow had him planted in the flight engineer's seat, enthusiastically demanding explanations in full, as Smitty piloted them swiftly homeward. Foster was sold! * * * * *