es in
the canals began to make you feel like diving in for a swim, you
stopped in at Jorgensen's to watch the fountain while his quiet, husky
waiters served your dinner most efficiently.

* * * * *

"Say, this is a cut or two above ship chow," admitted Konnel when the
food arrived. "What's that? Music too?"

"They have a trio that plays now and then," I told him. "Sometimes a
singer too, when not much is going on in the back room."

"Back room?" Howlet caught up the words.

"Never mind. What would you do right now with a million? Assuming you
could beat the wheel or the other games in the first place."

"Do they use ... er ... real money?" asked Meadows, cocking an
eyebrow.

"Real as you like," I assured him. "It collects in these places. I
guess lots of sandeaters think they might pick up a first-class fare
back to Earth."

"Do they?" inquired Konnel, chewing on his steak.

The string trio, which had been tuning up, eased into a quiet song as
he spoke. We listened as the question hung in the air, and I decided
that the funny feeling under my belt was homesickness, all the
stranger because I owned three homes not too far from the Martian
equator.

"As far as I know," I answered, "the luck seems to run to those who
can't go back anyway, for one reason or another. The ones just waiting
for a lucky night to go home rich ... are still waiting."

The door to the back room opened, letting through a blend of talk and
small mechanical noises. It also emitted a strikingly mismatched
couple.

The girl was dark-haired and graceful, though not very tall. She wore
a lavender gown that showed a good deal of trim back as she turned to
walk toward the musicians, and what the gown overlooked the walk
demonstrated. The man was fat enough to make him seem short until he
approached. His face and baldish dome were desert-reddened, and his
eyebrows were faded to invisibility. Jorgensen.

Nodding casually to various diners, he noticed the new faces at our
table. He ambled over lightly for one of his bulk, and it became
apparent that he was far from being blubbery. His belly stuck out, but
he could probably knock the wind out of you with it.

"Hello, Tony!" he said in a wheezy tenor. "Introducing some friends to
the best hamburger joint on Mars?"

Then he leaned on the back of Konnel's chair and told a couple of his
old prospecting yarns to make sure everybody was happy, while the girl
began