"It ought to; no one ever makes it."
"He did it twice! Plus other combinations. With him making out our daily menus, I'll never know why I'm not lucky too. Know what he's doing?"
I lifted an eyebrow.
"He's lending money to every loafer that puts the beam on him. But the guy has to show a non-transferrable ticket for passage to Earth."
"Darn few can," I grunted.
"That's why he keeps sending them out with the price of one and the promise to stake them when they get back. I never saw such expressions!"
At that point, Jorgensen sailed through the curtained doorway between the bar and back room. A craggy, desert look had settled on his red moon-face. He introduced me to two men with him as if someone were counting down from ten.
"Glad to meet you and Mr. Howlet," said the one called McNaughton.
I recognized "Mr. V'n Uh" as Van Etten, a leading citizen of the dome who had been agitating with McNaughton and others of the Operating Committee to form a regular police department. Jorgensen seemed to have something else on his mind.
"Howlet, how about having a word with your shipmate?"