Don said: "Look, fellows, this has gone far enough. We have control again, and a goodly hunk of Terran Electric as well. Enough, I think, to force them to behave like a good little company and stay out of other people's hair. Let's all get together and celebrate."
"Right," echoed the men.
A month later, Joe's was the scene of a big banquet. Barney Carroll got up and said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we all know why we're here and what we're celebrating. So I won't have to recount the whole affair. We all think Don Channing is a great guy, and Walt Franks isn't far behind, if any. I'm pretty likeable myself, and my lifelong sparring partner, Jim Baler, is no smelt either. And so on, ad nauseum.
"But, ladies and gentlemen, Don Channing has a deep, dark, dire, desperate phase of his life, one that he will be remembered and cursed for; one that will weigh about his neck like a milestone—or is it millstone?—for all of his life.
"Benefactor though he is, this much you shall know; I still say there is no place in the inner system for a man who has made this possible. Listen!"
Barney raised his hand, and an attendant turned on a standard, living room model radio receiver. It burst into sound immediately.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Interplanetary Network now brings to you the Whitewood Nutsies Program. Karven and Norwhal, the Venusian Songbirds; Thalla; and Lillas, in person, coming to you from the jungles of Palanortis, on Venus, by courtesy of the Interplanet Foods Co. of Battle Creek, Michigan!
"Ladies and gentlemen, Whitewood Nutsies are GOOD for you—"
Walt Franks said to Christine: "Let's get out of here."