So in the soft, yellowish red rays of a late and tired sun I watched while he turned three times to the west, went through the motions of blowing a beer head and tossed up his hand. The light tinkled quietly on the crystal clear figures as they soared lazily upward against a darkening blue. Spinning and tumbling they reached the zenith of flight and slowly gained velocity as they returned to the mother of all—but I wax poetic. I reached out my hand and snatched one. "Benny's Barometric Beer," it read.
"I remember that joint," mused Listless. "They adjust the gas pressure to equal outside pressure. Result—no burp."
"Even in thunderstorms?" I asked.
"Automatic pressure regulator."
So we went to Benny's. That's a nice quiet place downtown. As a rule, we don't go for the rainbow palaces and throne rooms that cater to the more exclusive and less interesting trade. All they ever have is acrobatic dancing at quarter gravity and stuff that Murphy could do at 3g's without straining anyone but me. And besides, with Dudley in control, the beer in those places would probably cost us half a credit. So we went to Benny's and Murphy wasn't there. Then we went to the Sun Spot and the only thing we recognized was the rise in price. We hit three or four more places but they were all modernized—no Outhouse. I was beginning to get sore about the rise in the cost of living. And Listless didn't seem to know what it was all about. After the fourth joint he started to argue with the bartenders. Which didn't do a bit of good because in those particular places, the bartenders were automatics. Finally we sallied into the Solar Spin Club and walked, stalked or clambered up to the bar. The regular customers walked, Listless stalked and I clambered.
The club was a pretty good bet because it has an old-fashioned bar in the rear for those who like to tell their trouble to a bartender who is deaf. Nobody knew that except a couple of us. Next to the bar were some tables. At one of these sat Brother Dudley and a couple of friends. Looking very disconsolate. Standing at the less brightly lit end of the bar were three lovely ladies laughing hysterically at one, broad Outhouse.