Toryl and Sartan exchanged troubled glances. Sartan took up the cudgel. "Auriga is a constellation, a star cluster, sir. It is forty-two million light years away."
"What in tarnation is a light year?" asked an old-timer in the group.
Another replied, "They must be from Alaska. They got light years up there, sometimes stays light the whole confounded year 'round."
"That must be it," agreed Okie, "and that's why they're wearin' them crazy suits." The saloonkeeper unloosed a grim laugh. "You can take them arctic pajamas off now, boys. Weather's kinda warm in these parts!"
"Hey, fellas!" a voice shot out, "didya bring any Eskimo babes down with you?"
The crowd roared approval at the witticism.
Toryl transmitted a depressing thought to his companion. "I fear they do not believe us, Sartan."
Sartan did not get the opportunity to answer immediately.
"Listen, you guys," Okie pounded his fat finger into Sartan's chest. "I want you to behave yourselves, understand? Now that means lay off the customers while they're at the games. You wanna gamble there is plenty of machines available. I got a respectable place, I wanna keep it that way!" He turned and addressed the other men. "All right, boys, fun's over! No fight today! Drink up and gamble your money away. Let's get back to the games."