more understood the entire workings
of the Galactic civilization than that New Guinea tribesman understood
the civilization of Great Britain, but he also knew that he understood
more of it than Jackson, for instance, did. McLeod had been able to
foresee a little of what the Resident had said.

"Would you do me the service, sir," McLeod said, "of opening a bank
account for me in some local bank?"

"Yes, of course. As Resident, I am empowered to transact business for
you at your request. My fees are quite reasonable. All checks will
have to go through me, of course, but ... hm-m-m ... I think in this
case a twentieth of a per cent would be appropriate. You will be
handling fairly large amounts. If that is your wish, I shall so
arrange it."

"Hey!" Jackson found his tongue. "The Earth Union Government has a
claim on that! McLeod owes forty-nine thousand Galactic credits in
income taxes!"

If the Galactic Resident was shocked at the intimation that the
Galactic "government" would take earned money from a man, the
announcement that Earth's government did so was no surprise to him at
all. "If that is so, I am certain that Professor McLeod will behave as
a law-abiding citizen. He can authorize a check for that amount, and
it will be honored by his bank. We have no desire to interfere with
local customs."

"I am certain that I can come to an equitable arrangement with the
Earth authorities," said McLeod, rising from his chair. "Is there
anything I have to sign or--"

"No, no. You have expressed your will. Thank you, Professor McLeod; it
is a pleasure to do business with you."

"Thank you. The pleasure is mutual. Come on, Jackson, we don't need to
bother the Resident any more just now."

"But--"

"Come on, I said! I want a few words with you!" McLeod insisted.

Jackson sensed that there would be no point in arguing any further
with the Resident, but he followed McLeod out into the bright Hawaiian
sunshine with a dull glow of anger burning in his cheeks. Accompanied
by the squad, they climbed into the car and left.

* * * * *

As soon as they were well away from the Residence, Jackson grabbed
McLeod by the lapel of his jacket. "All right, humorist! What was the
idea of that? Are you trying to make things hard for yourself?"

"No, but _you_ are," McLeod said in a cold voice. "Get your hands off
me. I may get you fired anyway, just because you're a louse, but if
you keep acting like