The doctor sipped his coffee. “No,” he admitted. “I wonder—No, I don’t suppose that means anything.”
“That jingle? Sure it means something, Doc. It means I should have had my head examined for letting you talk me into that performance.”
The doctor said rebelliously, “Maybe I’m wrong, Ross, but I don’t see that you’ve had any ideas than panned out much better.”
Ross got up. “All right,” he admitted. “I’m sorry if I gave you a hard time. It’s all this coffee and all the liquor underneath it; I swear, if I ever get back to a civilized planet I’m going on a solid diet for a month.”
They headed for the room marked “Gents,” Ross sullenly quiet, Doc thoughtfully quiet.
Doc said reflectively, “‘The price is ten cents.’ Ross, could that mean a paper that we could buy on a newsstand, maybe?”
“Yeah,” Ross said in irritation. “Look, Doc, don’t give it another thought. There must be some way to straighten this thing out; I’ll think of it. Let’s just make believe that whole asinine radio program never happened.” The attendant materialized and offered Ross a towel.
“Dime?” he said wearily.
Ross fished absently in his pocket. “The thing that bothers me, Doc,” he said, “is that I know there are intelligent people somewhere around. I even know what they’re doing, I bet. They’re doing exactly what I tried to do: acted as stupid as anybody else, or stupider. I’d make a guess,” he said, warming up, “that if we could just make a statistical analysis of the whole planet and find the absolute stupidest-seeming people of the lot, we’d——”
He ran out of breath all at once. His eyes bulged.