By the end of the third week out, Burl Jasperson was afflicted by an almost intolerable tension. He prowled the ship like a tiger, for he could think of nothing more to do. For the moment there were no more improvements to suggest to the Star Line, no more brilliant financial deals to execute, and each empty minute seemed to swell into an endless hour. He tried to relax by viewing the dramas on the stereoscreen, but he was always too uneasy to sit through an entire performance, and would leave in the middle to resume his pacing of the corridors. At his private table in the dining room he stared at the empty chair across from him, munching his food mechanically, seething with unrest. He could see Tanya's gleaming head across the room, with Alan Chase's beside her, and he tortured himself with imagining the light laughter, the friendly talk which must be taking place there. Never, before this trip, had he been made to feel so unnecessary, so much an outsider. Wasn't he a lord of finance, a master of industry, the kind of a man to be respected and admired? Of course, less successful men called him ruthless, he realized, but he was not ruthless--only realistic. He was an able man, and if he expected people in general to take orders from him, it was only because he was more intelligent and more capable than the people to whom he gave his orders. Nothing wrong with that. But these miserable empty days were beginning to frighten him. He felt lost. The ship ran by herself, without needing his help, and there was no doubt at all that she would win the Blue Ribbon. Although he questioned Captain Evans sharply, and checked every day on the minutest data of the voyage, so far he had found nothing to criticize--except the coldness of Josiah Evans' manner. He ground his teeth through a stalk of celery in a vicious bite. After all, wasn't he Chairman of the board of directors of the Star Line? Wasn't it his right, even his duty, to make sure that everything was going well? The crowd of diners had grown thin, now, and he could see clearly the little group at Tanya's table. They were laughing, and he could see the delightful animation which always disappeared whenever he tried to talk to her. Steward Davis sidled up, a deferential smile on his long face. "Is everything all right, Mr. Jasperson?" "Um." "Looks like we'll get the Blue Ribbon this trip, doesn't it, sir?" "Um." "If you should ever want any special dishes, sir, any little delicacies not available to everyone, I should be glad to speak to the chef." Jasperson pushed his plate away. "I'll remember, Davis." Throwing down his napkin he stood up. His waiter came running. "Dessert, sir?" * * * * * Without answering, he strode across the room, trying to compose his mouth into a smile as he reached his goal. "Miss Taganova, would you care to join me in the bar for a drink?" They all looked up at him in astonishment. "But I've just finished dinner," she said.