"My name's Jasperson. Everything all right? Enjoying the trip?"
The pink skin wrinkled in amusement.
"I am Wilson Larrabee. Everything's fine, thank you, except that the ship is almost too luxurious for a man of my background. A professor's salary does not often permit him indulgences of this kind."
"You a professor? Of what?"
"Various things at various times. Philosophy, physics, Elizabethan drama, history of science—"
"Myself, I never could understand why a sensible man would go into that business. No money. No prestige. Never doing anything, just reading and thinking."
"Every man to his taste," said Larrabee.
"Yes, within limits. But the things some of you professors think up! Most of the ideas do more harm than good, scaring people to death, hurting business. You'd think they ought to have more sense of responsibility!"
He tasted his drink, then nodded knowingly at the bartender. "This is something like! Real absinthe."
Professor Larrabee studied his companion. "I can hardly suppose, Mr. Jasperson, that you hold professors responsible for all the ills of the world. And yet you seem disturbed. Did you have something in particular in mind?"