"Sure. Within a couple of hundred thousand miles we can. That isn't close enough."
"No, it isn't," agreed Chuck.
Silence fell for a moment. It was broken by Arden, who came in waving a telegram. She sat down and appropriated Channing's glass, which had not been touched. Don opened the sheet and read: "Have received confirmation of your effort. I repeat, spare no expense!" It was signed: "Keg Johnson, Interplanet."
"Does that letter offer mean anything to you?" asked Arden.
"Sure," agreed Don. "But at the same time we're stumped. Should we be doing anything?"
"Anything, I should think, would be better than what you're doing at present. Or does that dinner-and-beer come under 'expenses'?"
Arden stood up, tossed Channing's napkin at him, and started toward the door. Channing watched her go, his hand making motions on the tablecloth. His eyes fell to the table and he took Franks' pencil and drew a long curve from a spot of gravy on one side of the table to a touch of coffee stain on the other. The curve went through a bit of grape jelly near the first stain.
"Here goes the tablecloth strategist," said Franks. "What now, little man?"
"That spot of gravy," explained Don, "is Mars. The jelly is the Empress of Kolain. Coffee stain is Venus, and up here by this cigarette burn is Venus Equilateral. Get me?"
"Yop, that's clear enough."