Henderson, as usual, was jovial but stern. "You did a fine job up there, Ged," he said, with false familiarity. "Really brilliant work." "Thank you very much," I said. I was holding the last piece of news for a minute or two, relishing it. "But you brought McCann in over a week ago. I don't see why you had to stay up at Atronics City at all after that, much less ten days." I sat back in the chair and negligently crossed my legs. "I just thought I'd take a little vacation," I said carelessly, and lit a cigarette. I flicked ashes in the general direction of the ashtray on Henderson's desk. Some of them made it. "A vacation?" he echoed, eyes widening. Henderson was a company man, a _real_ company man. A vacation for him was purgatory, it was separation from a loved one. "I don't believe you have a vacation coming," he said frostily, "for at least six months." "That's what you think, Henny," I said. All he could do at that was blink. I went on, enjoying myself hugely. "I don't like this company," I said. "And I don't like this job. And I don't like you. And from now on, I've decided, it's going to be vacation all the time." "Ged," he said, his voice faint, "what's the matter with you? Don't you feel well?" "I feel well," I told him. "I feel fine. Now, I'll tell you why I spent an extra ten days at Atronics City. McCann made and registered the big strike, right?" Henderson nodded blankly, apparently not trusting himself to speak. "Wrong," I said cheerfully. "McCann went to Chemisant City and filled out all the forms required for registering a claim. But every place he was supposed to sign his name he wrote _Ab Karpin_ instead. Jafe McCann _never did make a legal registration of his claim_." Henderson just looked fish-eyed. "So," I went on, "as soon as I turned McCann over to the law at Atronics City, I went and registered that claim myself. And then I waited around for ten days until the company finished the paperwork involved in buying that claim from me. And then I came straight back here, just to say goodbye to you. Wasn't that nice?" He didn't move. "Goodbye," I said. THE END [Illustration] Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ March 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. End of Project Gutenberg's The Risk Profession, by Donald Edwin Westlake