," he snapped, "_just_ my own time
dimension. And if I don't get back they will think I couldn't prove my
theory, that I'm ashamed to come back, and I'll be discredited."

His chest sagged for an instant. Then he straightened. "But there's
still time for my plan to work out--with the relative difference taken
into account. Only I get so tired just thinking about it."

"Yes, I can see where thinking about it would tire any one."

He nodded. "But it can't be too far away."

"I'd like to hear more about it," I said. "But if you're not going to
play with us--"

"Oh, I'll play with you," he beamed. "I can talk to _you_. _You_
understand."

Thank heaven!

* * * * *

Heaven lasted for just three days. During those seventy-two golden
hours the melodious tinkling of The Eye's cash register was as
constant as that of Santa's sleigh bells.

John became the hero of tourists, spacemen, and Martians, but
nevertheless he remained stubbornly aloof. He was quiet, moody,
playing his _Zloomph_ automatically. He'd reveal definite indications
of belonging to Homo Sapiens only when drinking beer and talking about
his holes.

Goon-Face was still cautious.

"Contract?" he wheezed. "Maybe. We see. Eef feedleman stay, we have
contract. He stay, yes?"

"Oh, sure," I said. "He'll stay--just as long as you want him."

"Den he sign contract, too. No beeg feedle, no contract."

"Sure. We'll get him to sign it." I laughed hollowly. "Don't worry,
Mr. Ke-teeli."

Just a few minutes later tragedy struck.

A reporter from the _Marsport Times_ ambled into interview the Man of
The Hour. The interview, unfortunately, was conducted over the bar and
accompanied by a generous guzzling of beer. Fat Boy, Hammer-Head and I
watched from a table. Knowing John as we did, a silent prayer was in
our eyes.

"This is the first time he's talked to anybody," Fat Boy breathed.
"I--I'm scared.

"Nothing can happen," I said, optimistically. "This'll be good
publicity."

We watched.

John murmured something. The reporter, a paunchy, balding man,
scribbled furiously in his notebook.

John yawned, muttered something else. The reporter continued to
scribble.

John sipped beer. His eyes brightened, and he began to talk more
rapidly.

The reporter frowned, stopped writing, and studied John curiously.

John finished his first beer, started on his second. His eyes were
wild, and he was talking more and more rapidly.