Johnson smiled. "No dice. I'm looking for a specialized business, Don. One that will pay off in a world where there is no money!"
"What are you going to sell—and for what?"
"I'm going to sell security—for service!"
"So?"
"Those are items that your devil-gadget won't duplicate, Channing. But they're intangible. Barter and exchange on the basis of a washed-car's worth of dug postholes."
Linna Johnson looked up with some annoyance as Keg entered her room. She was a tall woman, lissome in spite of her fifty years, but the artificial stamp of the "woman-of-fashion" spoke louder than her natural charm.
"Yes?" she asked without waiting for salutation.
"Linna, I need a hundred and seventy thousand dollars."
"Remarkable. What do you want me to do about it?"