" I repeated. "I should have heard of you, no doubt, but--"

A smile plucked at his thin, gray lips. "That is an error of mine, not
yours. My mission is that all the universe shall hear of me."

"He's preaching the religion of the Venus mystics," Snap explained.

"And this enlightened gentleman," said Ob Hahn ironically, nodding to
the man, "has just termed it fetishism. The ignorance--"

"Oh, I say!" protested the man at Ob Hahn's side. "I mean, you seem to
think I meant something offensive. And as a matter of fact--"

"We've an argument, Gregg," laughed Snap. "This is Sir Arthur
Coniston, an English gentleman, lecturer and sky-trotter--that is, he
will be a sky-trotter; he tells us he plans a number of voyages."

The tall Englishman, in his white linen suit, bowed acknowledgement.
"My compliments, Mr. Haljan. I hope you have no strong religious
convictions, else we will make your table here very miserable!"

The third passenger had evidently kept out of the argument. Snap
introduced him as Rance Rankin. An American--a quiet, blond fellow of
thirty-five or forty.

I ordered my breakfast and let the argument go on.

"Won't make me miserable," said Snap. "I love an argument. You said,
Sir Arthur--"

"I mean to say, I think I said too much. Mr. Rankin, you are more
diplomatic."

Rankin laughed. "I am a magician," he said to me. "A theatrical
entertainer. I deal in tricks--how to fool an audience--" His keen,
amused gaze was on Ob Hahn. "This gentleman from Venus and I have too
much in common to argue."

"A nasty one!" the Englishman exclaimed. "By Jove! Really, Mr. Rankin,
you're a bit too cruel!"

I could see we were doomed to have turbulent meals this voyage. I
like to eat in quiet; arguing passengers always annoy me. There were
still three seats vacant at our table; I wondered who would occupy
them. I soon learned the answer--for one seat at least. Rankin said
calmly:

"Where is the little Venus girl this meal?" His glance went to the
empty seat at my right hand. "The Venza, isn't that her name? She and
I are destined for the same theater in Ferrok-Shahn."

So Venza was to sit beside me. It was good news. Ten days of a
religious argument three times a day would be intolerable. But the
cheerful Venza would help.

"She never eats the midday meal," said Snap. "She's on the deck,
having orange juice. I guess it's the old gag about diet, eh?"

My attention wandered about the salon. Most of the seats wer