ough a Rorschach, thematic
apperception or free association test?"

The real Haslop hadn't. Either of them.

"Then we'll try free association," Gibbons said, and explained what he
wanted of them.

"_Water_," Gibbons said, popping it out quick and sharp.

"Spigot," the Haslops said together. Which is exactly what any spaceman
would say, since the only water important to him comes out of a ship's
tank. "Lake" and "river" and "spring," to him, are only words in books.

Gibbons chewed his lip and tried again, but the result was the same
every time. When he said "payday" they both came back "binge," and when
he said "man" they answered "woman!" with the same gleam in their eyes.

"I could have told you it wouldn't work," one Haslop said when Gibbons
threw up his hands and quit. "I've lived so long with that phony that
he even knows what I'm going to say next."

"I was going to say the same thing," the other one growled. "After
twenty-two years of drinking and arguing with him, we've begun--God help
me!--to think alike."

I tried my own hand just once.

"Gaffa says that they are exactly identical so far as outside appearance
goes," I said. "But he may be wrong, or lying. Maybe we'd better check
for ourselves."

* * * * *

The Haslops raised a howl, of course, but it did them no good. Gibbons
and Corelli and I ganged them one at a time--the Quack refused to help
for fear of being contaminated--and examined them carefully. It was a
lively job, since both of them swore they were ticklish, and under
different circumstances it could have been embarrassing.

But it settled one point. Gaffa hadn't lied. They were absolutely
identical, as far as we could determine.

We had given it up and were resting from our labors when Gaffa came
grinning out of the darkness and brought us a big crystal pitcher of
something that would have passed for a first-class Planet Punch except
that it was nearer two-thirds alcohol than the fifty-fifty mix you get
at most interplanetary ginmills.

The two Haslops had a slug of it as a matter of course, being accustomed
to it, and the rest of us followed suit. Only the Quack refused, turning
green at the thought of all the alien bacteria that might be swimming
around in the pitcher.

A couple of drinks made us feel better.

"I've been thinking," Captain Corelli said, "about what Gaffa said when
he limited the time of the test, that we might or might not disco