than find a good meal. It was mostly greenand white, with a good deal of the white being crystal. In thecorners stood fake pine trees which Jorgensen had repainted everymonth; but what drew the sandeaters was the little fountain in themiddle of the room.
Real water!
Of course, it was the same gallon or two pumped around and around, butclear, flowing water is a sight on Mars. When the muddy trickles inthe canals began to make you feel like diving in for a swim, youstopped in at Jorgensen's to watch the fountain while his quiet, huskywaiters served your dinner most efficiently.
* * * * *
"Say, this is a cut or two above ship chow," admitted Konnel when thefood arrived. "What's that? Music too?"
"They have a trio that plays now and then," I told him. "Sometimes asinger 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 youcould beat the wheel or the other games in the first place."
"Do they use ... er ... real money?" asked Meadows, cocking aneyebrow.
"Real as you like," I assured him. "It collects in these places. Iguess lots of sandeaters think they might pick up a first-class fareback to Earth."
"Do they?" inquired Konnel, chewing on his steak.
The string trio, which had been tuning up, eased into a quiet song ashe spoke. We listened as the question hung in the air, and I decidedthat the funny feeling under my belt was homesickness, all thestranger because I owned three homes not too far from the Martianequator.
"As far as I know," I answered, "the luck seems to run to those whocan't go back anyway, for one reason or another. The ones just waitingfor a lucky night to go home rich ... are still waiting."
The door to the back room opened, letting through a blend of talk andsmall mechanical noises. It also emitted a strikingly mismatchedcouple.
The girl was dark-haired and graceful, though not very tall. She worea lavender gown that showed a good deal of trim back as she turned towalk toward the musicians, and what the gown overlooked the walkdemonstrated. The man was fat enough to make him seem short until heapproached. His face and baldish dome were desert-reddened, and hiseyebrows were faded to invisibility. Jorgensen.
Nodding casually to various diners, he noticed the new faces at ourtable. He ambled over lightly for one of his bulk, and it becameapparent that he was far from being blubbery. His belly stuck out, buthe could probably knock the wind out of you with it.
"Hello, Tony!" he said in a wheezy tenor. "Introducing some friends tothe best hamburger joint on Mars?"
Then he leaned on the back of Konnel's chair and told a couple of hisold prospecting yarns to make sure everybody was happy, while the girlbegan to sing with the trio. She had hardly enough voice to be heardover Jorgensen's stories. I noticed Konnel straining to listen.
Finally, Jorgensen saw it too. Leaving Howlet and Meadows grinning ata highly improbable adventure, he slapped the boy on the shoulder.
"I see you noticed Lilac Malone, boy. Like to buy her coffee?"
"C-coffee?" stuttered Konnel.
"Made with water," I reminded him. "Awful waste here. Like champagne."
"I'll tell her she's invited," said Jorgensen, waggling a finger ather.
"The fellows are going out in the morning," I tried to head him off."They don't have much time--"
"All the more reason to meet Lilac while they can!"
We watched her finish her song. She had rhythm, and the lavender dressswirled cutely around her in the Martian gravity; but, of course,Lilac would never have made a singer on Earth. Her voice was moregood-natured than musical.
She arrived with the coffee, said "hello" to me, waved good-bye toJorgensen's back, and set out to get acquainted with the others.Catching Howlet's wink, and suspecting that he was used to gettingKonnel back to space-ships, I relaxed and offered to show Meadows theback room.
He muttered something about his gray hairs, but came along after anamused glance at Lilac and Konnel.
* * * * *
Jorgensen's gambling room was different from the bar and dining roomas they were from each other. Decorations were simple. Drapes ofvelvety synthetic, dyed the deep green that Martian colonists like,covered the walls. Indirect lighting gave a pretty gleam to the metalgadgets on the tables. Because they used a heavier ball, roulettelooked about the same as on Earth, and the same went for the dicegames.
"Interesting," Meadows murmured, feeling in his pocket.
He pointed a thumb at the _planets_ table. It was round, with a small,rectangular projection for the operator's controls and calculator. Inthe nine differently colored circular tracks, rolled little globesrepresenting the planets. These orbits were connected by spirals ofcorresponding colors, symbolic of ship orbits swooping inward oroutward to other planets.
"You pick yourself two planets," I explained. "For better odds, pick astart and a destination. The man throws his switch and each littleball is kicked around its groove by a random number of electricalimpulses."
"And how do I win?"
"Say you pick Venus-to-Saturn. See that silver spiral going out fromVenus and around the table to the orbit of Saturn? Well, if Venusstops within that six-inch zone where the spiral starts _and_ ifSaturn is near where it ends, you scoop in the stardust."
Meadows fingered his mustache as he examined the table.
"I ... ah ... suppose the closer you come, the more you win, eh?"
"That's the theory. Most people are glad to get anything back. It'shonest enough, but the odds are terrific."
A couple of spacers made room for us, and I watched Meadows play for afew minutes. The operator grinned when he saw me watching. He had alean, pale face and had been an astrogator until his heart left him inneed of Martian gravity.
"No coaching, Tony!" he kidded me.
"Stop making me look like a partner in the place!" I answered.
"Thought one night you were going to be.... No winners, gentlemen.Next bets!"
* * * * *
The spheres had come to rest with Pluto near one end of a lavenderspiral and Mercury touching the inner end, but no one had had theinsanity to bet that way. Meadows began to play inner planetcombinations that occasionally paid, though at short odds. He made abit on some near misses, and I decided to have a drink while he lostit.
I found Howlet, Konnel, and Lilac Malone in the bar admiring thered-bronze landscape. When he heard about Meadows, Howlet smiled.
"If it isn't fixed, they better prepare to abandon," he laughed."People look at that face and won't believe he always collects halfthe ship's pay."
Lilac saw a chance to do her duty, and suggested that we all go in tosupport Meadows. I stayed with my drink until Jorgensen drifted in tohave a couple with me and talk of the old days.
After a while, one of his helpers came up and murmured something intohis big red ear. He shrugged and waved his hand.
The next time it happened, about twenty minutes later, I was on thepoint of matching him with a story about a petrified ancient Martianthat the domers at Schiaparelli dug out of a dry canal. Jorgensenlowered his faded eyebrows and strode off like a bear on egg-shells,leaving me there with the unspoken punch line about what they weresupposed to have dug up with the Martian.
_Well, that build-up was wasted_, I thought.
* * * * *
Quite a number of sandeaters, as time passed, seemed to drift in andout of the back room. Finally, Howlet showed up again.
"How'd you make out?" I asked when he had a drink in his hand.
"I left my usual deposit," he grinned, "but you ought to see Meadows!Is he ever plugging their pipes! He ran Mercury to Pluto, and it paidoff big."
"It ought to; no one ever makes it."
"He did it _twice_! Plus other combinations. With him making out ourdaily menus, I'll never know why I'm not lucky too. Know w
hat he'sdoing?"
I lifted an eyebrow.
"He's lending money to every loafer that puts the beam on him. But theguy has to show a non-transferrable ticket for passage to Earth."
"Darn few can," I grunted.
"That's why he keeps sending them out with the price of one and thepromise to stake them when they get back. I never saw suchexpressions!"
At that point, Jorgensen sailed through the curtained doorway betweenthe bar and back room. A craggy, desert look had settled on his redmoon-face. He introduced me to two men with him as if someone werecounting down from ten.
"Glad to meet you and Mr. Howlet," said the one called McNaughton.
I recognized "Mr. V'n Uh" as Van