"Yeah--we will," Gimp said. "Couple of times I forgot J. John. But I lost my shirt on those loads that were lifted off you boneheads. The Kuzaks reimbursed me for half. Do you two want to cover the other half? Aw--forget it! Who's got time to figure all this? That old coot doped himself out a nice catch-dollar scheme, making us promise. Or was it a leg pull on a highly elusive proposition, where big sums and the vastness of space seem to match? Hell--I'm getting mixed up again..." Dave Lester had wandered off embarrassedly, there in the warehouse. But now he returned, clearing his throat for attention. "Fellas," he said. "Helen and I want you to come out to our apartment, now, for dinner." "Shucks, that's swell, Les," Ramos responded, suddenly curious. "Here, also," Nelsen enthused. "Sure," Gimp said. But his smile thinned. In this gravity, going to Lester's place was a floating glide rather than a walk. Along a covered causeway, into a huge dome, up a wall with handholds, onto a wispy balcony. Nelsen and Ramos brought liquor and roses. Much of what followed was painful and familiar--in a fantastic setting. Two young people, recently married, struggling with problems that they hadn't been able to plan for very well. While his wife was out of earshot, Lester put his hand on the back of a chair constructed entirely of fine golden wire--later it developed that he had made it, do-it-yourself fashion, to be economical--and seemed more intent on holding it down than to rest his hand. "Gimp... Frank..." he began nervously. "You helped Helen and me to get married and get set up out here. The Archeological Institute paid our way to Pallastown. But there were other expenses... Her--my father-in-law, died by his own hand while still awaiting trial... Everything he owned is still tied up... Now, well--you know human biology... I hope you can wait a little longer for us to begin paying back your loan..." Nelsen had a vagrant thought about how money now had to stand on its own commercial value, rather than rely on the ancient witchcraft of a gold standard. Then he almost suspected that Lester was being devious and clever. But he knew the guy too well. "Cripes, Les!" he burst out almost angrily. "How about your services, just now, as an archeological consultant? If you won't consider that we might have meant to make you a gift. Pretty soon you'll have us completely confused!" "What a topic for an evening of fun," Gimp complained. "Hey, Helen--can I mix the drinks?" "Yes--of course, Mr. Hines. I'll get you the things," she said with apology in her eyes and voice, as if fussy celebrities had descended on her small, unsettled, and poor household. "On the Moon you were a swell cook, Helen," Frank reminded her.